


Q.E.D.

by romanticalgirl



Series: Geometric Progression [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do, even when it's hard. And sometimes you still get what you want in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q.E.D.

“Close your eyes. Just…just trust me, okay?”

“Trust you.” Mickey doesn’t actually laugh, but it’s close. “I know you don’t think I’m _that_ stupid.”

“That hurts, Mick.” Ian reaches over and squeezes Mickey’s hand, which startles him since he actually does have his eyes closed.

“Fucker,” Mickey grouses when Ian laughs. “This is _why_ I don’t trust you.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“Bullshit.”

Ian laughs again and Mickey can’t help smiling. He is completely in-fucking-love with a complete fucking idiot. “Eyes still closed?”

“Jesus Christ. Just do whatever it is already.”

“Nope. No kinky stuff. This time. We can definitely talk about it later.”

“Ian,” Mickey growls his name in warning.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.” Ian stops the car and Mickey hears the door open and shut. The hot, heavy summer air hits him like a blanket when Ian opens the passenger door. Ian takes his hand and Mickey follows him, staying close. “Three steps,” Ian says after a few minutes. 

Mickey stubs his foot into the bottom step then navigates the rest of them. “This better not be some sort of surprise party. I hate surprises.”

“Pretty sure our entire relationship has been a surprise.”

“Shut up.”

“Unless you stole Kash’s gun because you wanted me to come over so you could jump me.”

“I said shut up.”

“Elevator.”

“What?”

“Elevator.” 

The world jolts under Mickey’s feet and he tightens his grip on Ian’s hand. “Stop fucking laughing.”

“I apologize, ma’am.” Ian says. “Tourettes.”

Mickey kicks Ian solidly in the calf. “You’re a dead man.” Ian laughs and tugs Mickey closer. “I’m going to open my fucking eyes.”

“No, you’re not.” The elevator glides to a stop and Ian pulls Mickey out and down a hallway. Mickey shivers in the air conditioning, moving closer to Ian instinctively. Ian lets go of Mickey’s hand and wraps his arm around him instead. He squeezes Mickey’s shoulder and Mickey shivers again, though not from the cold.

“Stop,” Ian whispers the word in Mickey’s ear, and it’s the sexiest fucking think Mickey thinks he’s heard in a long time. Ian’s voice is hot and full of promise, anticipation.

Mickey doesn’t move or open his eyes, even when he hears the jingle of keys and the quiet swing of a door opening. 

“Come on.” Ian takes his hand again and tugs Mickey along in his wake. Mickey hears the door shut, locks click. Ian’s hands cover his eyes. “Ready?”

Mickey’s dick is getting hard in his shorts, so yeah. Definitely ready. “Come on, Gallagher. I’m not going to live forever.”

Ian removes his hands. “Look.”

Mickey opens his eyes and lets out a low whistle. “Are we robbing the place?” It’s a gorgeous condo, well-decorated and expensive. Mickey doesn’t recognize the art or the furniture, but he recognizes quality. 

“Not exactly.” Ian kicks off his shoes, pushing them into a corner. He pulls his socks off as well and Mickey just stares at him. “Trust me. Take yours off.”

“What?”

“Shoes and socks. Come on.”

“Where are we?”

“Come _on_.” Ian advances on him, backing Mickey up against the sofa. Mickey looks back and it’s fawn-colored leather that he’s pretty sure is made out of actual Bambi. He sits and, in that instant, never ever plans on getting up.

“Holy shit.”

Ian kneels down at Mickey’s feet and tugs off his shoes and socks. “Get up.”

“No. I’m becoming one with this couch.”

Ian stands up, grabs Mickey’s hands, and pulls him to his feet. Mickey’s protest is cut off as his feet sink into the carpet. “Am I dead and getting a tour of heaven to taunt me before I’m sent to hell?”

Ian laughs and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist to pull him close. “Not exactly.”

“Then where the fuck are we?”

“Gary’s.”

“Who the fuck is… _Hawaii_ Gary?”

“Yeah. He’s out of town on business. Asked me to water his plants. Feed his fish.” He shifts so he can slide one of his legs between Mickey’s. “He’s gone for two weeks.”

“So you’re staying here?”

“ _We’re_ staying here. You and me.”

“He know that?”

“They don’t get to know about you. We’re private.”

“Since when have you been content to keep us a secret? You want to tell the whole fucking world.”

“We’re not a secret.” Ian slides his hands around and cups Mickey’s ass. “Just private. They only get to see the parts of my life I want them to see. The people who matter know the truth. The real people in our lives. The person these guys know isn’t even close to who I am.”

“So he has no clue that while he’s gone you’re going to make me come all over his silk sheets or that I’m going to blow you in the Jacuzzi tub?”

“Nope.”

“Or that I’m going to ride you on this sofa?”

“Not a clue.” Ian’s smile keeps getting bigger.

“Or that we’re gonna jerk off while watching porn on his giant ass TV?”

“Hasn’t even come close to crossing his mind.”

“I want to mark this place like a pissed off cat.”

“I know just the place to start.” Ian kisses Mickey hard and fast then steps back, grabbing Mickey’s hand and leading him down the hallway. Mickey peeks into open doors they pass, seeing a game room with a fucking pool table and a foozball game. 

Ian opens the door at the end of the hall and flips a switch just inside. Panels of curtains slide to the edges of the room and Chicago is laid out in front of them. Ian leaves Mickey staring and sits on the edge of the bed. Mickey thinks it’s a bed. He’s not completely sure, because it’s definitely bigger than any bed he’s ever seen.

“Holy fucking shit, Ian.” Mickey doesn’t know where to look, what to look at, but eventually his eyes land on Ian just for something familiar. 

Ian’s smiling, looking completely pleased with himself. “Well?”

“Why the fuck do you ever _leave_ here?”

Ian’s brown furrows slightly. “What?”

“Shit, why do you see all those different guys? Just shack up with this asshole.”

“Well, there’s this whole other asshole I’m in love with.” Ian’s eyebrow is raised, almost a challenge in his look. “I’d rather be with him.”

“Then switch it up. Make _him_ your piece on the side.”

“I’m talking about you, shithead.”

“I know you are, but fuck, I’d dump me for all this.”

“Well, you don’t know how good you are in bed.” Ian spreads his legs and leans back, elbows on the mattress. “Would you dump me for all of this?”

“Not even a legit question, because the difference between you and me? No one’s ever going to offer this to me. Not even on my best day.”

“I would. On any day. But if someone told me I could have this or I could have you, I’d pick you every time. Hands down.”

“I think you’re crazier than the rest of your family put together if that’s the case.” Mickey walks up to the bed and stands between Ian’s spread legs. “And there’s a _lot_ of fucking crazy in your family.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips and pulls him forward as Ian falls back on the bed. Mickey catches himself, braced over Ian. “I’m crazy for being in love with you?”

“Well, there are people, including several in your immediate family, who would argue that being with the local thug who has a psychotic homophobic father isn’t exactly sane.”

“Well, luckily I’m not in love with your dad.” Ian’s eyes hold Mickey’s gaze, not wavering.

“That’s an image I didn’t need in my head.”

“I’m also not in love with Gary.”

“I didn’t say you should be in love with him. I said you should take him for all he’s worth.”

“Yeah, you’d be thrilled with that, I’m sure.” Ian smirks at Mickey. “You’re not getting rid of me. Stop trying.”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“I don’t _want_ to be saved. I want you to realize that we’re alone in a bedroom and you’re on top of me and neither of us are naked. And then I want you to rectify the situation immediately.”

“Some fancy fucking words there, Gallagher.”

“Strip so I can fuck you.”

“Okay. That I understood.” Mickey puts his knee on the mattress and levers himself back to his feet. He tugs his tank top over his head and drops it to the floor. Ian sits up and runs his fingers down Mickey’s sternum to the waistband of his jeans.

“How do you want to defile this bed?”

“Something you and he have never done.”

Ian smiles and kisses just above Mickey’s navel, his fingers rubbing Mickey’s zipper with just enough pressure that Mickey can feel it against his dick. Mickey unbuttons his fly and Ian kisses below his navel this time. He takes the fob of the zipper and slides it down slowly, planting barely there kisses along Mickey’s dick, lips hot through Mickey’s boxers.

Mickey’s already half-hard from Ian’s touch, and his kisses finish the job. He runs his hand over the curve of Ian’s head, ruffling the short hair. He lets out a shaky breath, mouthing Ian’s name as he looks down and meets Ian’s eyes.

Ian licks up to the tip of Mickey’s dick, tracing the ridge of the head with his tongue. Mickey shivers in response. “You’re going to be the death of me, Gallagher.”

“Not for a long time I hope.” Ian kisses the head of Mickey’s dick then licks the wet spot staining the fabric of his boxers. “I’ve got plans for you.”

“Th-that so?” Mickey’s voice catches as Ian’s fingers graze his hips and catch at his waistband.

“Oh yeah. Full on military campaign. All the stuff so far has just been basic training.”

“You didn’t make it through basic.”

“Bullshit. I got a medal in Mickey Milkovich.” Ian presses his smile to the head of Mickey’s cock as he frees it from his boxers, then licks the smooth skin and sliding the tongue along the slit. 

“Pretty sure if that’s the case, I should have a purple fucking heart.”

Ian laughs his stupid fucking laugh, which should irritate Mickey but, like everything else Ian Gallagher, it turns him on instead.

“Are you gonna suck my fucking dick or what?”

“Mmm.” The noise reverberates on Mickey’s skin. “Being my commanding officer, huh?”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey grabs his dick and rubs it against Ian’s lips. “Get the fuck on with it.”

Ian parts his lips and slides the flat of his tongue across Mickey’s dick before taking him in his mouth. His hands push Mickey’s boxers all the way down and then they’re back on Mickey’s body, gliding up his thighs to his ass. Mickey’s short nails scratch at Ian’s scalp as his hips rock forward, a slow roll into Ian’s mouth. Ian rubs the curve of Mickey’s ass, squeezing and massaging it as his mouth works Mickey over.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey moans thickly, his back arching. “Love your mouth. Fuck.”

Ian squeezes and Mickey flexes, his ass muscles tightening. Ian hums low and hot around Mickey, and Mickey scratches harder at Ian’s head. This time the noise Ian makes is like a purr. Mickey turns his hand so he’s cupping the back of Ian’s head and thrusts forward.

Mickey pushes in and he can feel Ian react, adjust. His tongue presses up against Mickey to keep him from thrusting too deep, his teeth pressed against the base of Mickey’s dick, his lips preventing any contact beyond pleasure. Mickey feels the firm slick warmth of the back of Ian’s throat. He presses the pads of his fingers against Ian’s head and holds him there, Ian instinctively reacting to the thick length as Mickey’s hips barely thrust.

Ian groans and sucks, pressure pulling Mickey deeper. Now that he’s started, Mickey knows he can’t stop, falling into a steady rhythm, the push and pull of fucking Ian’s mouth. Ian’s hands are all over him – ass, thighs, hips – and Mickey feels surrounded in more ways than one.

Mickey’s head falls back when Ian’s hand slips between his legs and he cups Mickey’s balls, holding them loosely. Mickey licks his lips and thrusts forward, gasping roughly when Ian squeezes, rolling them against his palm with his fingers.

Mickey arches toward Ian, pushing deep to the back of his throat, hand on Ian’s head in an iron grip as he moves in hard, fast jerks, not letting Ian pull away.

Mickey punches his right thigh when he comes, holding in the sound of his groan. Ian keeps sucking him like he has no intention of stopping and doesn’t pull off until Mickey shoves him away.

Mickey goes down after him, opening his mouth on Ian’s. Their tongues slide together, Ian’s bitter with the taste of Mickey’s come. Ian grabs Mickey’s shoulders and rolls them over, sitting up and looking down at Mickey. Ian’s mouth is red and wet and swollen, and Mickey wants to bite it, lick inside it. “What?”

Ian smiles at Mickey’s breathless question. “I’m not through with you yet.”

“I wasn’t trying to stop.”

“No. You were trying to return the favor.” Ian leans down, his eyes bright with amusement and desire. “But I’m not through with _you_.” He leans in and kisses the tip of Mickey’s nose as he moves off of him. He slaps Mickey’s hip. “Roll over and show off that ass.”

“Christ,” Mickey grumbles, not feeling either of them. “You quoting bad porn or something?”

“Notice you’re doing what I said.” Ian’s hand strokes Mickey’s skin, light fingers that brush over Mickey, never quite enough. He leans in and kisses Mickey in the small of his back, hands firmer now, guiding Mickey where he wants him.

“So,” Mickey’s voice is rough with anticipation. With Ian, the blowjob is always just the beginning. “This rich dude have lube made from, like, the blood of virgins or something?”

“Mickey?”

He glances back over his shoulder at Ian, grinning.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You gonna ma-” Mickey breaks off with a groan as Ian huffs a breath along the crack of Mickey’s ass, following its path immediately with his tongue. Mickey’s head falls forward, hanging down between his braced arms. Ian exhales against him again, and Mickey can’t help the whimper, as embarrassing as it is.

“Mick,” Ian murmurs softly, and Mickey feels it more than hears it, and it’s the weirdest fucking way he’s ever heard anyone say, ‘I love you’, but he knows that’s what it is.

Ian’s tongue moves, flat licks from Mickey’s balls to his hole again and again, spit slicking Mickey’s skin, sliding down his balls. Mickey’s hands are fisted in the comforter that probably costs more than he makes in a month. It’s hard to breathe with Ian’s tongue focused at his opening, tracing the hole with the tip of his tongue. Mickey wants to beg him to get on with it, but he knows that will just make Ian slow down, draw it out.

Ian’s hands slide over Mickey’s ass, thumbs spreading the cheeks apart. Ian pulls back and Mickey makes a noise, but then Ian’s there again, tongue wet as it pushes past the muscle. He works his tongue in, slowly fucking Mickey with it. Ian uses his tongue like he does his fingers and hand, pressing deep and making Mickey feel like every inch of him is on the verge of flying apart. He licks around and inside, biting and sucking on Mickey’s ass before thrusting his tongue back in, holding it firm so it’s all Mickey can feel.

Mickey’s cock is leaking, hard and red, precome dripping down onto the bed. He’s biting his lower lip, trying not to sob as Ian doesn’t relent, tears burning his eyes as he keeps going. Ian slips his tongue free and Mickey gasps in relief, his voice breaking. The relief is short-lived as Ian takes Mickey’s balls in his mouth and sucks hard, pushing two fingers into Mickey’s ass.

“Jesus fuck,” Mickey’s voice hits an octave he hasn’t heard since puberty. Ian’s laugh is muffled around Mickey’s balls and the vibration is almost too much. Mickey chokes out a rough sob. “Just…just, fuck, Ian. Please. Jesus, please. I can’t…”

Ian sucks harder, spreading his fingers wide. Mickey goes down on his elbows, his ass higher in the air, changing the angle of Ian’s fingers and his mouth. Mickey’s hips jerk and he can feel come dribbling out of his dick. 

“ _Please_. Christ.”

Ian sucks harder and Mickey sinks his teeth into his fist. There’s a wet pop and then Ian is on him, inside him. Mickey groans as Ian grabs his hips, pounding inside him. Mickey takes him, overloaded as Ian hits him just right, like he’s built for Mickey. Made for him. 

“Fuck, Mick. So good. Shit.” Ian pants the words, his breath hot on Mickey’s skin. He grunts softly and stills, buried deep, his whole body quivering as he comes. He presses his head to Mickey’s shoulder and doesn’t move, breathing him in.

Finally Ian exhales and shifts his weight. Mickey makes a rough noise even before Ian starts to pull out, and it drags out as a low hum and a sharp gasp as Ian eases free. Mickey collapses on the bed, his dick and stomach against the cold wet spot on the mattress. Ian falls down beside him, propping his head on his hand. He trails his fingers up Mickey’s back through the sheen of sweat. Mickey shivers and turns his head to meet Ian’s gaze.

“I don’t do that with anyone but you.”

“Because I’m the only one who tells you to kiss my ass?”

Ian laughs and slaps Mickey on his right ass check. “All the other guys are nice to me.”

“Sounds boring as hell.”

“You’re definitely not boring.” Ian rolls onto his back then sits up, grabbing at Mickey’s jeans and digging out his pack of cigarettes. 

Ian tosses it on the bed and Mickey grabs it. “Thanks.” He turns over, tightening the muscles of his ass as he feels everything shift, feels Ian’s come leak out of him. He digs a cigarette out of the pack and Ian clicks the lighter and lights it for him.

“You’re a mess.”

“Pretty sure that’s your fault.”

“Complaining?” Ian raises his eyebrows. 

“Do I sound like I’m fucking complaining?”

“You were pissing and moaning.”

“Fuck you, moaning was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Mickey takes a hit off his cigarette and blows smoke up into the air. “Two weeks, huh?”

“And I don’t have anything else lined up.” Ian traces the trail of hair from Mickey’s navel down to his dick. “Just here. And you.”

Mickey chews his lower lip and winces at the tenderness. “Ow.”

Ian lifts himself up and leans over him. “Kiss it better?”

“Your tongue was just up my ass, dude. I don’t want you kissing anything of mine until you gargle.”

“Pussy.”

“Fuck you. I care about personal hygiene.”

Ian barks out a laugh. “Since when?”

Mickey shoves Ian’s arm so his elbow slides out from beneath him and he lands back on the bed. Mickey moves quickly, straddling Ian and smiling down at him. “You’re such a fuckhead.”

“I’m your fuckhead. Take two weeks off. Get Svetlana and Mandy to watch Yev.” Ian’s hands settle on Mickey’s hips. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I think it’s _their_ while they’re going to give a shit about.”

“Well, I was planning on fucking you. Not sure that’d work with them.”

Mickey reaches down and strokes Ian’s dick. Even not hard, it’s pretty fucking impressive. “Dunno.”

“Okay, it might work for _them_ , but it definitely won’t _work_ for them.”

Mickey laughs. “Does this asshole have any food?”

“No chicken nuggets or anything…”

“Are you knocking nuggets?”

“No way. They’re one of the four major food groups.” Ian shoves Mickey into the wet spot and hurriedly gets off the bed.

Mickey chases him, catching Ian just inside the kitchen and pushing him against the wall. “You’re a fucker, Gallagher.” He leans in and licks from the base of Ian’s throat to his ear then bites the lobe.

Ian moans softly and tilts his head, giving Mickey better access. Mickey bites and sucks at the tender skin and Ian bends his knees slightly to compensate for the difference in height. Mickey rises up on his toes, breath hot as it fans over Ian’s skin. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips and pulls him closer, their cocks rubbing together. Mickey laughs and Ian moans again as it rumbles over his skin. “Seems to work just fine for me.”

“One of these things is not like the others,” Ian laughs as well.

Mickey grins and sinks down to his knees. He breathes against Ian’s cock and Ian shivers. Mickey licks the tip, and Ian’s voice breaks. “Just had my dick up your ass, you know.”

“Pretty damn aware of that.”

“I can’t kiss you, but you can suck me off?”

Mickey runs the tip of his tongue along the slit then around the ridge. “I’m sorry, are you fucking complaining?”

Ian cups his hand around the back of Mickey’s head. “Just suck me off.”

“The fuck do you think I’m trying to do?” He doesn’t give Ian a chance to answer, taking him in his mouth as deeply as he can. Ian leans back against the wall, hips thrust out. Mickey wraps his hand around the base, stroking Ian each time he sucks him down. The sound of Ian’s rough breaths surrounds him, and Mickey tries to take him deeper still. Ian grabs mickey’s shoulders when he hits the back of Mickey’s throat. Mickey grabs Ian’s wrists in return and forces his hands back against the wall. Ian groans thickly, hips thrusting forward.

Mickey’s eyes burn and the corners of his mouth hurt from the stretch. Spit pools there with each push in of Ian’s dick. Mickey hums around him and Ian bucks forward. Mickey knows Ian’s not close. It hasn’t been long enough, but he can feel the pulse of Ian’s cock on his tongue. He tightens his hands on Ian’s wrists to feel the matching heartbeat there. Mickey loves Ian like this, surrendered to mickey, lost in his mouth, in him. So much of the time Mickey feels powerless to how he feels about Ian, so seeing Ian just given over to him is heady as fuck.

Mickey watches Ian through his lashes, his own dick hard against his stomach again, but he uses the heat and the need on Ian, sucking harder, tighter, deeper. Ian’s barely breathing, his entire body flushed red, his freckles lost in the blush. Ian fists his hands and Mickey holds tighter, knowing Ian will have bruises when he lets him go. Mickey hums around Ian again, and Ian gasps, eyes widening as he comes.

Mickey sucks him down, refusing to stop until Ian is begging, his whole body jerking with reaching when he’s spent and overloaded. “Stop. Fuck. Please.”

Mickey pulls back slowly, licking his lips. The tip of his tongue touches the corner of his mouth to lick away the creamy white drop of come caught there.

“Fuck.” Ian sinks to his knees and pushes Mickey onto the floor to straddle him. He grabs Mickey’s dick, wrapping his fingers tight around him as he strokes hard and fast. Mickey watches Ian’s fist around him, the red marks from his fingers on Ian’s wrists matching the hot flesh of Mickey’s dick.

Ian shifts forward, panting his free hand on the floor next to Mickey’s head. His breathing is still rough and shallow as he leans over Mickey, staring down at him. 

“Two weeks to take each other apart, Mick. Two weeks of this, of us. Just us.”

“Don’t…fuck, don’t need the sales pitch. I’m in.” Ian tightens his grip a bit more, twisting his wrist as his palm curves around the head of Mickey’s dick. There’s pain and pleasure and Mickey comes in Ian’s fist. After a few minutes, both of them still struggling to get their breathing steadied, Mickey looks up at Ian. “I’m still fucking starving though.”

**

Living with Ian is different than staying with Ian, than dating Ian. Living with Ian is waking up at all hours of the night to find him pacing, writing, talking to himself. Living with Ian is finding out exactly how many times a day he can have sex and how many variations and positions there are.

Living with Ian is exhausting.

“Hey,” Ian whispers, bracing himself over Mickey and nuzzling at the top of his spine. “Whatcha doing?”

“Recuperating. Regrowing the bones you melted.”

“You pussying out on me? Did I wear you out?”

“Well, apparently unlike you, I’m just a normal, lowly human. I require food, sleep, and at least ten minutes between fucking orgasms.” He turns over and looks up at Ian. “I would very much like to still have my dick when these two weeks are up.”

“I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to your dick.” Ian moves his leg between both of Mickey’s, thigh pressing against Mickey’s dick. “I happen to be exceedingly fond of your dick. And your ass.”

“That also needs a break. I’ve had you so deep inside me so much I’m not going to be able to shit for a month.”

Ian grins impishly. “Do you do anything besides piss and moan?”

“Do you ever fucking sleep? It’s three-fucking-am.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Well, I can’t fuck.”

“Roll over.”

“Seriously, Ian. My ass isn’t a Denny’s. It’s not open 24 hours.”

Ian bites Mickey’s lower lip then sucks on it. Mickey can’t help pushing closer to Ian. Ian licks into Mickey’s mouth and whispers against his lips. “Turn over.”

Mickey turns with a helpless groan, bracing himself on his elbows. Ian settles on top of him, his dick resting along the crack of Mickey’s ass. He nuzzles Mickey’s shoulder and rolls his hips, sliding his dick against Mickey’s skin.

Ian grazes his nose and mouth over Mickey’s shoulder and neck, the length of his throat. Mickey can feel the tension that seems to be crawling under Ian’s skin as Ian lowers himself so his elbows are just outside Mickey’s. There’s nothing between them except the hard length of Ian’s dick rubbing against Mickey’s ass, leaving threads of precome stretching from the tip of Ian’s cock to the small of Mickey’s back.

“Fucking insatiable, man,” Mickey murmurs into the pillow.

Ian growls. “You fucking love it.”

Mickey bites his lower lip and nods. “Do. Love it. Love you.”

Ian presses his head to the crook of Mickey’s neck, sucking hard on his throat. Mickey’s pretty sure Ian’s mouth has been on every inch of him, marked him with hickeys or bruises or bites. It’s an amazing feeling, like he belongs to Ian, with him. He’s also sore everywhere, his skin sensitive to the slide of Ian’s body, the faint rasp of Ian’s stubble on his neck. He’s not sure anymore if he’s aroused or oversensitive, overstimulated.

Ian’s voice is breathless as he whispers against Mickey’s throat how good, how much, please, more, yes. Mickey loses himself in the feeling, the motion and his breath catches in time with Ian’s as he comes.

Ian rolls off of him and lays there on his back, hand resting on Mickey’s thigh. Mickey sighs softly and closes his eyes. He’s half hard, but the last thing he wants is anything near his dick. “Should sleep.” He turns his head so he can see Ian, watch his profile.

Ian’s nose scrunches up. “Not tired.”

“How are you not tired?” Mickey yawns. “I’m exhausted and you’re the one doing most of the heavy lifting.”

“Just have better stamina than your lazy ass, I guess.”

“Fuck off.” Mickey yawns again. “At least stay here with me, huh?”

“Aw. You wanna cuddle, honey?”

Mickey just flips him off, groaning into the pillow with a combination of frustration and defeat when Ian climbs off the bed.

“I’m just going to get something to clean you up.”

“And then what? Run a marathon?”

Ian rolls his eyes and disappears into the bathroom. Mickey actually ponders getting up and following him, because the shower is amazing, but Ian would probably take it as an invitation to have sex again, and Mickey’s pretty sure he’s incapable of that. 

He’s almost asleep when Ian comes back with a warm washcloth and runs it up and down Mickey’s back. Mickey makes a low noise, almost a moan. Ian leans down and plants kisses along Mickey’s spine.

“Seriously, Gallagher. Fuck off, okay?” He says it with a laugh and Ian shoves him over so he can lie down next to him. “I’m going to sleep now. I know you’ve heard of sleep. I’ve even seen you do it.”

“Goodnight.” Ian leans in and kisses the tip of Mickey’s nose. “Get your beauty sleep, princess.”

Mickey keeps looking at him and finally Ian shakes his head and scoots closer, tugging Mickey up against him, spooning around him. “Happy?”

Mickey wraps his hand around Ian’s wrist and holds him close. “Yeah.”

**

Mickey wakes up the next two mornings alone. Ian usually shows up a couple of hours later, usually sweat-soaked from a run. He always goes straight to the shower, not even stopping to say anything to Mickey. Mickey follows him into the bathroom after the third day. Ian smells like sweat and Chicago summers, but there’s something else that burns at Mickey’s nostrils. He boosts himself onto the vanity and watches Ian strip.

Ian looks at him, eyes bright. “Hey. Sleep good?”

“Yeah. Just fine. You sleep at all?”

“Couple hours.”

“Here?” Mickey hates how his voice cracks on the word. Something flashes in Ian’s eyes and Mickey just nods. “Don’t lie to me, okay? At least be fucking honest. I may not deserve much, but I think I’ve fucking earned that from you.”

“I couldn’t sit still. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“So you went out and fucked someone.”

Whatever Ian had expected Mickey to say, that clearly wasn’t it. “Wh-what?”

“Sorry I can’t keep up with you, Superman.” Mickey hops off the counter and goes back into the bedroom. Ian follows him, just in his underwear, leaving the water running in the shower.

“Mickey.”

“It’s cool.” He manages a smile, but he doesn’t feel it. “Getting a little light-headed in the thin air up here anyway. You do what you need to do. I’m going back home.”

“You don’t have anyplace to go.”

He’s sure that Ian doesn’t intend for that to sting as much as it does, but it does sting. Mickey’s starting to understand that he doesn’t really seem to belong anywhere anymore. At least when he was in the closet he had somewhere to stay. “I’ll keep staying in the room above the Alibi. Just like I did before this. Have Mandy or Svetlana bring over the kid.”

“Don’t...” Ian’s voice breaks and Mickey has a sudden sense of deja vu from when Ian had told him he was enlisting. “Please don’t go.”

“People like me aren’t meant for shit like this. This ain’t ever going to be my world. You fit here. I appreciate you trying to bring me along for the ride, but I’m getting off. You have all of this and you need more, and I can’t give you anything. Or at least I can’t give you enough of what I actually do provide. Time to stop fooling myself.” Goosebumps rise on his skin and every word feels like it’s made of glass, cutting up his throat as he speaks.

“No.”

“This wasn’t ever going to work.”

“It does work! It is working!”

Mickey smiles at him. “I never thought anyone would give me what we’ve had. I never even hoped.” He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Don’t walk away.” Ian’s pleading with him, eyes wide. “You don’t get to walk away.” He steps in closer and reaches out. “You’re the one real thing in my life. I get to be me when I’m with you. I don’t have to pretend nothing matters. I don’t have to hide anything, You keep me honest.”

“I can’t keep setting myself up for this. Every time you leave I wonder who you’re with. What you’re doing. I may be a street punk, but I still get tired of getting knocked down.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just...I’m crawling out of my skin, every day.” Ian’s voice shakes as if the words scare him. “I can’t write or talk fast enough. I can’t run far enough, fuck hard enough.”

“And I’m not enough.”

“You are!”

“Then why are you out fucking other guys, Ian?” His own voice wavers and he hates how much he feels all of this, how much it hurts. He never planned on any of this, and it’s gotten completely beyond his control.

“Because you’re exhausted and I can’t...I don’t know how to _stop_. It’s like a compulsion. I have to. I can’t _not_.”

“You can’t not fuck other dudes.”

“I’m coming apart. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. All I want is to be with you. I don’t want them. They’re just bodies. Blow up dolls with a pulse. They don’t _matter_. You matter. So I fuck up and burn it off so what we have isn’t just me rutting on you.”

“It’s never been just that.”

“It’s like this thing inside me fights me, tries to get out, and sometimes it does.”

“Do you turn green and rip off all your clothes?” Mickey tries for levity, but he’s pretty sure it comes out as sarcasm.

“My clothes usually come off?” Ian says it as a question, eyes down and looking at Mickey through his lashes. It doesn’t quite work given how much taller than Mickey he is.”As far as I know, nothing turns green. Especially my dick.”

Mickey chews the edge of his tongue, then sinks down onto the edge of the bed without looking away from Ian. “You think you’re, like, sick or something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“But you’re afraid you are.”

“My mom...”

“Right.” Mickey laces his fingers together. “So you think that might be it?”

“I’m not like her. She’s...dangerous. Reckless. I’m just stupid. Ruining everything good.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re _leaving_ me.” Ian shakes his head and his voice trembles. “How is that not ruined?”

“You’ve got your family.”

“If I’m like _her_ , they’re not going to want me around. She’s destructive. A fucking wrecking ball. We don’t want her around so they’re sure as fuck not going to want me around.”

“Monica didn’t take her meds though, right?”

“She always said they made her feel like a zombie. What fucking good would I be thin?”

“So you’re going to...what? Keep doing this? Keep fucking around, doing all of this? Running around like you’re on speed?”

“No. Not if it’s the same. I’ll hit a low. Crash hard. Like, second car in a ten car pile-up.”

“How long has it been this way?”

“Since the Army. It was good and then it wasn’t. But lately it’s gotten worse.”

“Does that mean a crash is coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. So.” Mickey rubs his hands over his face. “Do you want to see a doctor?”

“No.”

Mickey’s relatively certain it’s a miracle he hasn’t committed homicide yet. “You think you’re sick, but you don’t want to see a doctor. So you’d rather run around like a maniac and fuck any dude that even looks at you.”

“It’s not quite like that.”

“I kind of think it is.” Mickey pulls his hands out and digs for his cigarettes instead, lighting one up with shaky hands. “In the past two weeks, other than me, how many guys have you fucked?”

Ian averts his eyes.

“We’ve been here for ten days. Just tell me in the last ten days.” 

“Five.”

Mickey’s listening for it, braced for it, which is the only reason he hears Ian’s answer. This time he scrubs both hands over his face. “Five. Not including me.”

“Not including you.”

“Okay. Okay. So, six guys in ten days. You using protection?”

“Mostly.” Ian’s voice gets quieter, but it’s still loud in the silence.

“And by mostly do you mean you don’t with me, but you do with everyone else?” Ian doesn’t bother to answer. He doesn’t have to. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Please. Please don’t go.” 

“Well, right now I either leave or beat the living shit out of you, so I’m leaving.”

Ian closes his eyes tight and nods. “I love you. If that matters.”

“It matters. It does matter. It’s just...I know you think you’re not, but you are being reckless. Maybe not like your mom, but in your own way.”

Ian keeps his eyes closed. Mickey stands there for a moment then grabs the duffel bag Ian had brought for him. 

“Mick?” Ian sounds small, scared. “You...do you...?”

“Yeah.” Mickey nods even though Ian can’t see him. “I do.”

**

Mickey’s sleeping when his phone rings. “Fuck.” He groans as he looks at the clock. It’s ten in the morning and he’s only been asleep about three hours. “What the fuck do you want?” he snarls.

“Mick?” Mandy sobs his name and Mickey sits up quickly.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m...I’m at Ian’s.”

Ian’s name hits Mickey like a fist. It’s been almost three months since he’s seen him, communicated with him except for a few texts that Ian sent. They were mostly dirty jokes and things that caught Ian’s eye – sunrises. Fucking flowers. “You have Yev with you?”

“Yeah. He’s...he’s fine. It’s Ian, Mickey.”

Mickey gets out of the bed and pulls the blackout curtains aside, wincing in the bright light. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s not moving. He’s just...lying here. Not doing anything. Like, comatose.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot. _Yes_ I talked to him. He won’t _say_ anything.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Did I say he was dead? I probably would have said that first, you dumbass.”

“Did you call his family?”

“No. Just you. Should I?”

“Let me come over. Fuck. I’ll be there as soon as I can. He pulls on some clothes and rubs his face, slapping his cheeks to actually wake up. He rides the train and walks to Ian’s building, jogging up the stairs. Ian’s door is open and Mickey goes inside, shutting it behind him. Mandy’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress talking softly to Ian. Yev is curled up right next to him, his breathing matched to Ian’s. Mickey has an instant visceral reaction, jealous as fuck of his kid.

Mickey kicks off his shoes and comes over to the bed. Mandy looks up at him, eyes wide and scared. “Shove over.” She moves out of Mickey’s way and he sits close to Ian, reaching out to curve his hand along Ian’s jaw. “Hey you.”

Ian’s eyes flicker to Mickey’s for an instant and then he goes back to simply staring.

“What’s going on?” Ian doesn’t answer and Mickey glances down at Yevgeny. Ian’s holding him close, but not too tightly. “Kid’s missed you.”

Ian still doesn’t respond and Mandy punches Mickey. He can sense her fear, even though he hasn’t looked away from Ian. “What’s wrong with him?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Mickey has his suspicions though. “Go over to the Gallagher’s. Get one of them. A smart one. Fiona or Lip. Debbie.”

“That’s most of them.”

“Christ, Mandy. Just _go_.” Mickey waits until she’s gone before he lays down on the bed next to Ian with Yevgeny between them. “So is this it?” He rubs his thumb over Ian’s jaw. “Crash?”

Ian’s eyes flicker again but he doesn’t make eye contact. His grip on Yevgeny tightens slightly like he’s a shield.

“He’s not going anywhere. Not going to take him away from you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Ian closes his eyes, but nothing about him relaxes. Mickey just keeps watching, almost glad Ian’s eyes are closed so he doesn’t have to look into the frozen blankness. Mickey’s used to brightness radiating out of Ian, and the nothingness is scary as fuck. He closes his own eyes, keeping his distance, not wanting to spook Ian at all. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, how long he lies there and listens to Ian breathe.

He hears the lock turn and opens his eyes. Ian tenses up and Yevgeny moves in his sleep, not quite struggling. Mandy comes into the apartment with every single Gallagher except for Frank. “Christ, Mandy. You don’t think this is a little overkill?”

“Well, I tried to just tell Lip, but he freaked.”

“You said Ian was kind of comatose!”

“Well, he’s just _lying_ there and won’t talk.”

Liam walks over to the bed and bends over to look at Ian. “Hi, Ian.” Ian doesn’t answer, so Liam leans in further then looks at Fiona. “Ian’s sleeping.”

Fiona glances at Debbie. “Take Carl and Liam outside, okay Debs?”

Debbie glances at Ian and then nods, leading Liam outside to the hall. Carl’s eyes are wide when he looks at Ian, and he doesn’t protest having to leave.

Lip’s gaze is on Mickey and he’s frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Mandy called me.”

“Well, you can go now.”

“No.”

“I think Ian’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you around.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything, not wanting to counter anything Ian may have told his family about them not seeing each other anymore. Instead Mickey looks at Fiona. “He says he’s felt out of control since the Army.”

“Bullshit.” Lip shakes his head. “We just both wised up and realized we didn’t need the Milkoviches and their psychotic tendencies in our lives.”

“Fuck you,” Mandy snaps. “I’m sorry I didn’t want you to ruin your life.”

“So you ruined Karen’s?”

“She made you self-destructive!”

“What the fuck do you think Mickey does to Ian?”

“Could you both shut the fuck up?” Mickey doesn’t raise his voice, but something in his tone quiets them both. “For being so fucking smart, you’re a complete idiot. If I was trying to get Ian back, I’d be the one who was in a fucking daze and Mandy would have called him over to me. He looks fucking sick.”

Fiona comes over to the bed and squats down. “Ian?”

He doesn’t answer her, just bends his head down, pressing his face against Yevgeny’s dark hair. 

“Ian, baby, why don’t you come home? Stay with us.”

“There are 80 fucking people in your house. _Frank_ is in your house.” Mickey shakes his head. “He can stay here. We can take shifts.”

Fiona shakes her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“I’ve been doing some reading on this. The bipolar stuff.”

“We don’t have to read about it. We’ve lived it,” Lip huffs. “Ian’s not bipolar.”

“Ian fucking loved ROTC. It was his ticket out of this dump. Why would he sabotage himself in the Army?”

“He only enlisted because of you, you asshole.”

“Go away.”

Mickey looks down at Ian. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t even changed his body posture. Fiona rests her hand on his shoulder and leans in. “What, Ian?”

“Go the fuck away!” Ian shouts. Yevgeny starts crying when Ian yells, reaching for Mickey. Mickey reaches out and strokes Yevgeny's cheek. He quiets a little, whimpering rather than crying. Mickey keeps petting him looking at Ian along with everyone else. Ian's voice turns to a whisper. "Go away."

"We can't really do that, baby." Fiona strokes Ian's hair. "You can't be alone right now."

"Fuck off."

"We can't, Ian."

Ian looks up at Mickey, something dark in his eyes. "Go away."

"I have to take him with me, Ian. You know that. Or I can stay and he can stay with you. I won't talk to you. I'll leave you alone."

Ian stares at him and it's haunting. There's still nothing there in his eyes really, but there's a ghost of something. "You won't take him away?"

"No. He can stay here with us. Mandy'll go get his stuff and we'll stay here with you.”

"You're not staying here." Lip snaps at him. "Ian's our family, not yours."

"He's your blood. He's my family." Mickey looks at Lip and he knows he probably looks scary, dangerous. He hope he does. "He wants Yevgeny here. He's here, I'm here."

Fiona stops Lip from saying anything else "Mickey's right. If Ian wants Yevgeny here, if that makes him feel better, safer, then they stay. We'll go for now. Come back tomorrow, okay, Ian?"

Ian doesn't say anything, just hugs Yevgeny closer to his chest. Mickey sighs softly. "We'll be okay. I'll call if I need to, all right?"

"Call no matter what."

Mickey flips Lip off without looking at him. He understands why Lip is acting this way. Mickey's been scared for Mandy, been worried and afraid and not sure he should trust anything that might hurt her. And Mickey knows that he and Ian have done a lot of hurting each other. But he also knows who he can trust in the end and, when it comes to Ian, everyone should be clear that they can and should trust Mickey.

Fiona nods and presses a kiss to Ian's temple. He stiffens, but doesn't pull away, though he relaxes once she moves and gets to her feet. She gathers the rest of the Gallaghers and leaves, and Mickey can hear her voice drifting down the hall as she talks to the younger kids.

Mickey glances back at Mandy who looks on the edge of panic. "Hey. It's cool. Just go back to the house, okay? Get some of Yev's things. Food, clothes, diapers. Tell Svetlana I'm going to keep him for a while. It's going to be all right, Mandy."

"Is he really sick?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Like mental stuff?"

Mickey nods. "You know about his mom."

"That she's a whack job and fucked them all up? Yeah."

Mickey laughs roughly. "Not helping, Mandy. He's a little out of it. He's not deaf."

"Ian's not a whack job." Mickey gives her a look that warns her to stop talking. She'd railed against Ian several times since Mikey had walked away, calling him a lot of names, and accusing him of being abusive and telling Mickey he was better off without getting jerked around all the time. Mickey hadn't argued or agreed with her. He didn't know any answers and wasn't about to pretend he did if he didn't have to.

"Just go get the stuff, okay? And swing by the Alibi and get some stuff for me too?"

"Okay. And I'll go grocery shopping when I get back. I don't think you should live off Rice Chex and Kix." She gathers up her stuff and looks from Mickey to Ian. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. He's not going to hurt me. And I won't let him hurt himself." The ghost of Monica’s suicide attempt lingers unspoken in the room. Ian had told Mickey about it in halting words, maybe half the story. Enough that Mickey didn't ask for details. He knew enough and the reading he'd been doing since he and Ian split up filled in the rest.

Mandy goes, looking back several times before she actually gets out the door. Mickey scrapes his teeth across his upper lip and lets Yevgeny grab his finger in his fist. His eyes are wide and a weird combination of green and brown and blue. He's a pretty cute kid. "You want me to move away?"

Ian doesn't answer, but he closes his eyes, and Mickey assumes that means Ian feels safe enough not to stare at him to make sure he doesn't make any sudden moves. Mickey focuses on Yevgeny, not wanting Ian to feel watched or pressured.

"So he's talking and stuff. I mean, not really talking, but he's progressed beyond moos when it comes to animals. I think it's an improvement. He can do dogs and cats and pigs now. Sometimes it's like I've got a whole fucking farm in my room."

Ian's shoulders hunch and Mikey nods to himself, disengaging his finger from Yevgeny's hand and going over to the pile of books Ian has on the floor. He can feel Ian watching him as he moves but he doesn't react to it or glance back. He finds a book that sounds the least uninteresting – Ian's got shit taste in reading – and then goes back to the bed, settling a pillow against the headboard and leaning back, opening the book to read.

He thinks he should be crawling out of his skin or running for the hills, but knowing Ian needs him or might need him keeps him calm. He's given up on them as anything more than, well, not friends but whatever it is that they are like this, so it's easy to pretend everything else is in the past and he's just here to help out. At least he tells himself that a lot.

Mandy comes back with a duffel bag of stuff for Yevgeny and a bag for Mickey, then disappears again to the store. She's cursing Ian's stairs when she brings back at least twenty grocery bags and puts stuff on the shelves, shoving aside cereal boxes. After she finishes, she goes away again and comes back with a pizza and a six pack. She steals a piece and looks at Mickey. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

"I'm just going to sit here and read books and talk to myself and Yev. Maybe read out loud. Who knows. But we'll be fine. Promise."

She looks like she doesn't believe a single word of it, but she also looks like she knows better than to argue. Good enough. She hugs him roughly before she leaves and leans in to give Yevgeny a kiss. Ian pulls back slightly, but Mandy ignores it. They're good at ignoring the things that hurt. She gets up and leaves, and Mickey sighs when the door closes behind her. He's pretty sure Ian falls asleep, or at least his breathing falls in rhythm with Yevgeny's, so Mickey goes back to reading.

He's pretty much already fucked off his job, so staying with Ian won't cost him anything. Burning bridges is his specialty. Except this one. Apparently the bridge between him and Ian is fire-resistant.

**

They spend two weeks like that. Mickey making sure Ian eats something even when he doesn't want to, changing and feeding Yevgeny. He takes him out for walks to give Ian time alone, but he never stays gone for long. He drinks a lot of coffee and pisses a lot, spending more time in the bathroom than normal, since it's the one place in the apartment that allows him a little bit of privacy to let out how much he wants to break down, even just a little.

He steals a few books on one of his trips outside, something classical and boring as fuck, since he thinks maybe Ian will get up just to stop Mickey from reading it out loud. He also snags something that looks interesting as well as a few books for Yevgeny. He hasn't stolen anything in a while and, since he can't just use the brash approach he used at the Kash and Grab, he's a little worried about getting caught. But he's also good at it, so he makes it out unscathed. He even gets hit on by the sales clerk, but he acts oblivious. Maybe he is oblivious, because she sure as hell ain't Ian.

By the end of the second week, he's pretty much admitted to himself that he has not nor will not ever be over Ian, as fucked up as it might be. But he's not sure that Ian feels that way about him. How much of what they had was fueled by Ian's mania. He's read the signs and everything fits with so much of what he and Ian had. It aches more than Mickey wants to admit, because knowing that maybe nothing was real is like a knife in his gut. Maybe he's never had anything real. Maybe he never will.

It's the start of the third week, and Mickey is fucking sick of cereal and Pop-Tarts. He tries to make pancakes on the hot plate, and it's sort of a failure, but with enough syrup, all pancakes are delicious. He's almost finished with his plate when he feels Ian stir beside him. Mickey glances over and Ian blinks and there's something there. Ian's there in his eyes "Hey, dude"

"Bite?"

Mickey nods and swallows and stabs the fluffiest part of the pancake with his fork and holds it out to Ian. It drips syrup and Ian catches it on his tongue before taking the pancake in his mouth. Mickey really doesn't appreciate his body's reaction to that, but it's instinctive, so he just ignores it.

Ian chews it slowly and Mickey wonders if it's the first thing he's actually tasted in two weeks or more. He feels bad that it probably tastes like shit. "My culinary skills suck these days. You two haven't required much cooking."

"How long's it been?" Ian's voice is scratchy, unused. He sounds tired, which shouldn't make sense, but Mickey imagines that being depressed is sort of exhausting in its own way.

"I've been here about two weeks."

"I'm sorry." Ian tries to sit up, but it doesn't quite work and he bangs his head on the headboard. 

Mickey sets his plate down and offers his arm for support and Ian finally manages to lever himself up. "Didn't have anything else going on. Besides, I got quality time with the kid." He glances at Ian out of the corner of his eye. "You need anything?"

"I should call Fiona." Ian rubs his eyes. "Feel like shit. I need a shower."

"You shower. I'll call Fiona."

Ian shakes his head. "No. Just...maybe you could just stay with me for a while? Just hang out?" He grimaces like he realizes that Mickey's been beside him for over two weeks and hanging out with him is probably the last thing Mickey wants to do.

"You asking me to scrub your back, Gallagher?"

"Or keep me from drowning myself."

"Oh." Mickey frowns and swallows. "Yeah, I'd prefer you didn't do that. I think your family would kick my ass. Not sure I could handle a horde of Gallaghers descending on me."

"I'm not feeling suicidal." Ian's face flushes, which is better than the paleness, but it seems to highlight how tight his skin is across his bones. "Not right now."

Mickey looks over at Yevgeny who is curled up in his nest of blankets at the end of the bed, asleep and clutching the stuffed penguin Ian got for him. "I could scrub your back. And get you out of those fucking rank clothes."

"Not sure I'm up for anything else." Mickey frowns slightly and Ian shakes his head. "Beyond that, I mean. Not...I wasn't implying sex or anything. I know we're not that anymore. I just mean that that's probably going to be the extent of what I have energy for today."

"We'll, we'll start with standing up. See how you feel after that, okay?" Mickey gets to his feet and grabs Ian's hand, pulling to help Ian to his feet. Ian sways slightly and Mickey grasps his arms to keep him steady. "Whoa. Do I need to sling you over my shoulder or something?"

"Maybe let me kind of lean on you?"

"Anytime, Gallagher." Mickey puts his arm around Ian’s waist and holds him against him, his hand gripping solidly as Ian throws his arm over Mickey’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Good thing we’re here and not at the house. Bathroom’s only three feet away here.” Ian’s body shakes slightly and Mickey knows he must feel weak, given that he’s hardly eaten. He lets Ian lean as much as he wants as they walk the short distance and then helps him sit on the toilet. 

“How hot do you want it?”

“Not too hot. More than warm.” Ian puts his elbow on his knee and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Mickey. Mickey tries to ignore the gaze and focuses on getting the water just right. Ian’s apartment is currently as spotless as it can possibly be, since Mickey’s been bored enough at times to scrub the tub. It was surprisingly rewarding. Plus he took out a lot of aggression. He dips his hand under the faucet and then rubs his wet fingers down Ian’s arm. 

“Okay?” Ian shivers before the words are even out of Mickey’s mouth. “Too hot? Too cold?”

“No. Just...” Ian takes a deep breath. “Contact.”

“Sorry.” Mickey wipes his hand off on his jeans and lets the tub fill up. He gets to his feet and looks down at Ian. “You need help for this part?”

“Maybe you could call Lip or something.”

“I’ve seen you naked before, Gallagher. I promise you’re not going to offend my delicate sensibilities.” Mickey grabs both of Ian’s hands and tugs him to his feet. He looks up at Ian and smiles. “Hands up.”

“Aren’t you usually on the receiving end of that line?”

“Keep laughing and see how easy it is for you to get in and out of the tub on your own, wobbles.” Mickey grabs the hem of Ian’s shirt and lifts, pulling it and trying not to watch the easy way Ian bends to let him get it over his head and off his arms. Mickey makes a noise and coughs. “Jesus, you smell worse than I _ever_ did.”

“Not true. You created a new level of stink.”

“Didn’t keep you from putting your dick in my ass.” Mickey doesn’t look at Ian. He flexes his hands, a few of his knuckles cracking then he hooks his thumbs in Ian’s waistband. “Don’t get too excited. You put my eye out with your dick and I’m going to be pissed.” He pushes the shorts down, carefully guiding it over Ian’s dick. He’s not hard, which is both a relief and stings.

He kneels down to tug Ian’s socks off as well, and coughs again. “Christ.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m going to shove this in your face and see what you say. Your dick smells like a sewer.” Mickey glances up and there’s a hint of a smile that he can’t quite help. “You smell worse than your dad, dude.”

“Those are fighting words. And if I had the strength of something stronger than a house fly, I’d kick your ass.”

Mickey straightens up and nods toward the tub. “Come on. We’ll probably have to bathe you five or six times to make you human again. Might as well get started.”

Mickey holds on to Ian as he steps up to climb in the bath until he settles in the tub. Ian shivers again and closes his eyes, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. Mickey sits on the toilet and watches him, keeping his eyes on Ian’s face rather than anything else. He glances around the milk crates to look at Yevgeny and make sure he’s still sleeping before focusing on Ian again. 

“I read this story.” Mickey clears his throat. “I mean, I read a lot of shit after...after I left Gary’s place. About bipolar.”

Ian looks anywhere but at Mickey at the mention of Gary’s name, finally settling on his hands below the water. “Oh?”

“There was this lady in a manic state. Flew to Las Vegas instead of picking her kids up at day care. Had an orgy with, like, nine guys and then married three of them. When she swung, they found out that one of the guys had emptied out her bank account, and the hotel eventually had to call her husband – the real one – when she knocked herself out slamming into the glass of her window.”

“Shit.”

“You didn’t get married or anything, did you?”

“Not that I remember. A lot of the shit is a blur.” He finally glances at Mickey. “I fucked up. I know that.”

Mickey slides off the toilet and sits on the floor, leaning back against it. It keeps him from the temptation of looking at Ian, devouring him with every glance, and it feels safer somehow. “There’s lots of horror stories out there, but I guess you lived one. I mean, with your mom.”

“I lived one all by myself.” Ian leans his head back on the tub and stares up at the ceiling. “I was crashing when I left the Army. Destructive. The final fall from the heights, you know? I fucked up and I ran and then I got away with it, and that kicked in another high. Such a fucking high. Mania feels good.”

“Until it doesn’t?”

“Yeah. That.” Ian slumps down in the tub a little. “I kept a journal. Well, I think it was supposed to be a journal. I imagine it’s mostly a bunch of babble and gobbledy-gook.”

“Gobbledy-gook? Who the fuck says that?”

“Me apparently, asshole.” Ian smiles and Mickey can see ghosts of the Ian he knows. It almost hurts to see it, but in a good way. “I’m afraid to read it. Just in case there is stuff in there that reminds me what I did. I want to forget it all. Push it away.” He looks over at Mickey and holds his eyes for a long time. Mickey’s almost tempted to look away from how much turmoil he sees there, how much hope and fear and uncertainty. “But that means pretending that I didn’t hurt you and that’s not fair.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit.” Ian straightens up. “Even if we’re not together anymore, you deserve to be treated with respect and...You deserve so much better than what I gave you.”

“I was where I was because I wanted to be. And I got out when I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Stop.” Ian says the word sharply and Mickey’s brow furrows. “We did that. When we were kids. We did that all the time. We deserved how Monica treated us. We deserved it. We asked for it. That’s how love is. That’s just the way it is. That’s Monica’s way. That’s just Monica. And it’s complete and utter crap. No one deserves it. Even if it’s not intentional.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you had any control either. So maybe it’s not okay, but it’s also not your fault.” Mickey frowns down at his hands. “What do you want to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

Mickey doesn’t look at him, rubbing his finger over the letters on his knuckles. “You just going to ride this out? Keep going high then low forever?”

“You’re asking if I want to see a doctor.”

Mickey looks up. “You’re sick, Ian. It sucks, because it’s a shitty thing to be sick. Not just sick, but sick in a way that doesn’t...heal. But I’ve had time to think. About us and about what we did, what we were like. Maybe you don’t remember it all, but I do. And I can’t do that. Not again. Not just for me, but for Yev too. I have to look out for him. What’s best for him.”

“And I’m not good for either of you.” It’s not a question, more of an acceptance. 

“You’re sick.” Mickey shrugs and rests his temple against the side of the tub, looking up at Ian. “You were with other dudes all the time. Not being safe. You were on all the time. Up and going. I couldn’t keep up with you. I couldn’t. I wanted to. I wanted to be enough for everything you needed. I tried really hard.”

“You were.”

“No, Ian. I wasn’t. I was enough for Ian Gallagher, but not for the mania. And at some point I’m going to have to pay some bills, and sitting next to you for two weeks non-stop isn’t going to be something that can I happen. Yev’s going to get older and need more from me.” Mickey smiles sadly. “You know what Monica put you through, Ian. I can’t do that to him.”

Ian actually flinches and Mickey presses his forehead to the tub so he can’t see Ian’s face. Neither of them say anything and Mickey doesn’t move until he hears the water splash a little. He looks up just enough to see Ian lathering up a washcloth with the soap. “I’m going to clean up. Why don’t you call Fiona?”

Mickey sits back and nods, levering himself to his feet. Ian’s expression is completely shut down, and Mickey’s not sure if ending it this way hurts more or less than before. He grabs a towel out of one of the milk crates and sets it on the toilet then goes into the bedroom to grab his phone. Fiona answers and he talks to her, but he doesn’t listen to her so much as he listens to the sound of the water telling him Ian’s still okay.

**

Mandy comes into Mickey’s room the day he gets home from Ian’s. Home being a tenuous word, given that he’s still in the room above the Alibi and that’s probably only because Kevin’s forgotten he’s up there. She sits on the edge of his bed then scoots across the mattress so her back is to the wall. “It reeks up here.”

“Well, I haven’t been here in a while, so.” He shrugs. “Not like I had time to clean up before I rushed over to Ian’s.”

“You should have said something. I would have come and cleaned up for you.”

“You would have rooted through my stuff for things to steal or incriminating evidence.” 

“You’re not a very good Milkovich if you leave incriminating evidence.” She’s wearing sandals and her toes are painted green. He focuses on them as she works up to whatever she’s trying to say. He can see her open and shut her mouth a few times before she actually manages words. “I’m sorry.”

That’s the last thing he expected to hear. “What?”

“I didn’t know who else to call. When it comes to Ian, you’re the first person I think of.”

“It’s fine, Mandy.”

“No. It’s not. I mean, I feel like I was cheating on you with him.”

“Okay, we’re a fucked up family, but we’re not that fucked up.” Mickey kicks at her foot. She pushes his stocking foot away and glares at him. “Well, you and I aren’t.”

“You are such a fucking prick.” Mandy’s half-smiling, so Mickey knows she’s not that pissed. He also knows how fucking wrong it is that they can joke about this. Of course, joking about it is really the only thing that keeps them from ripping the universe apart. “Besides, I think we’ve proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that I’m not Ian’s type.”

“Old, gay, and rich?”

“Not you.”

“Trust me, that’s not Ian’s defining criteria.” Mickey lights a cigarette and blows smoke up at the ceiling. He needs to find a new job and figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life. Funny. Before Ian, he didn’t expect to have a life other than running scams with his dad, dealing drugs, and doing hard time. Sometimes he wonders if that would have been better. It sure as fuck would have been safer. “Dad still at home?”

“Yeah, when he’s not out running jobs and kissing his PO’s ass. Nobody believes a word of it, but he hasn’t gotten caught breaking any laws. Yet.” Mandy leans over and steals his cigarette, making sure to get lipstick all over the butt. “You should have just let Ian kill him when he was all strung out. Nobody would have blamed him. Probably would have gotten off with self-defense.”

“Still don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me. Not Ian, not you. I don’t give a shit about dad, except that I have to stay here instead of at the house. Miss the kid.” He shrugs. “It was nice having him around for a while.”

“That’s why I was seeing Ian. He called me one day and asked if he could see Yev. He sounded really sad and desperate, and I thought it would be okay. I mean, what was he going to do, right? And I never thought he was dangerous or anything. I just figured he missed you and didn’t know how to fix things. And Yev was like a mini-you.”

“Let’s hope the fuck not or the kid’s in more trouble than I thought.” He lights another smoke and flips her off. “I don’t know that he can fix things. We were fucked up, Mandy. I mean, I know what was behind it now, but it was still fucked up. What I let him get away with.”

“You didn’t let him get away with shit, Mickey. He did shit.” 

“Yeah. But I could have walked away. Should have. Should have gone to his family and said something, seen if they could have done something for him before it got bad.”

“It was bad, Mick.” She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “That’s not on you. And besides, it’s not like the Gallaghers have a long history of listening to anyone. Too many years of tuning out Frank to realize when someone’s actually telling them the truth.” She smokes the cigarette, taking short, deep inhales and holding the smoke for a while before letting it go. It makes him want a joint more than a cigarette, but he doesn’t have any. “You still love him?”

Mickey really wants the joint now. “You got any weed?”

She gives him a look and digs in her jacket, pulling out a small baggie of joints. He pulls one out and lights it, inhaling and holding it until it feels like his lungs are crackling like the paper. He finally exhales and hands the blunt to Mandy. “Notice you not answering my question.”

“I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid that he’ll look at me and ask me to come back and I won’t be able to say no, and I’ll end up in deeper than I was. I can’t love him. Not while he’s not getting help. I can’t let myself, because...because I’ll lose myself in him. In what he needs. In what he’s going through. And I can help him. I want to help him, but he doesn’t want help yet. He wants...absolution, I guess. He wants me to say he’s forgiven and it’s okay. And it’s not.”

“And if he’s getting help?”

“If he’s getting help.” Mickey takes the joint back and takes another deep hit off of it, holding the smoke until his whole body feels starved for oxygen, then letting it go, getting a kind of high off being able to breathe. “That’s the question, huh? If he’s getting help, will we be better? Will he still love me? Want me? Am I part of his destructive streak?” 

“You’re good for him.”

“Is he good for me?”

“Yes. No. He’s fucked up. You’re fucked up. Maybe you’re fucked up in complementary ways. I know he loves you, Mickey.”

“He loved me when he did all those things too. I’m not sure that’s the kind of love I want.”

**

Mickey hasn’t been to the abandoned buildings in ages. A lifetime ago, maybe. He also hasn’t held and fired a gun in that long. He’s not sure if it’s aggression or frustration he’s trying to get out of his system or if he’s just trying to lose himself in the sound, in the feel of the kickback. It’s like a rite or a ritual, habit, muscle memory.

He hears someone coming up behind him and tenses slightly. He’s not too worried, because he’s got a gun, so at the least they’re even and at most he’s better armed. A rock skitters past him and he lowers the gun and turns around. 

Lip’s standing there, shielding his face with his hands as he lights his cigarette. He takes a long drag and then exhales. “It’s cold as fuck up here.”

“So go away.”

“Ian’s at home. Settled.”

“That’s great.” Mickey turns back to his target. It’s a rotted teddy bear with soggy tufts of cotton spilling out like blood spatter. “Hope he’s doing well. You guys must be happy to have him home.” He fires off another shot and hits the bear square on the nose, knocking it off the concrete shaft it’s sitting on. 

“You mad at him now?”

“No.” Mickey aims at the concrete now and watches the powder explode out of the wall as the bullet hits. 

“You’re not coming around.”

“Yeah, well, Ian and I aren’t together. Haven’t been for a while. No point it in, right? Not like I’m buddies with any of the rest of you.” Mickey puts the safety on the gun and tosses it on the moldy couch off to the side. “Find it hard to believe you’re missing me.”

“He misses you.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll get over it, right? We Milkoviches, we’re easy to get over. You told Mandy that in not so many words. Must be a family thing. Gallaghers and Milkoviches. Oil and water.” Mickey lights a cigarette of his own and blows the smoke in Lip’s direction. “Why are you even here? You hate me.”

“He loves you.”

“He needs to love himself enough to get help before he worries about what he feels for me. He doesn’t want to get help? That’s fine. Well, it’s not fine. It’s stupid as fuck, but it’s his decision. His life. You guys have made such a big deal about how he’s like Monica, how this is just like Monica. You ever think that maybe what you’re telling him is that he’s crazy and you don’t want him around? Because pretty sure that’s what he hears. You guys talk about how much you hate her being in your lives, and then you tell Ian’s he’s just like her?” He shakes his head and takes another hit. “Why should he take his pills? You guys have all decided to be judge, jury, and executioner.”

“You don’t know anything about this.”

“Except I do. I know what it was like when Ian ran to my place before we were even...anything really and told me he needed to be somewhere that wasn’t where his mom was. He needed someplace safe. He was scared to death. He fucking...being her is probably the thing that scares him the fucking most in this world, and that’s all you guys do for him. Make him out to be her.”

“Bullshit.”

“No.” Mickey shouts the word. “Just because you don’t want to believe it doesn’t make it bullshit. I told Ian where I’d be and what I needed. And I don’t think needing something from him is such a huge thing. Pretty sure I got my ass ground into dust and handed to me. Fucking other guys. Fucking me over for other guys. I never once asked him to give shit up. Never. But I’ll be damned if I paint a big ass target on my back for him to take aim at again.”

Lip stands there for a long time staring at his cigarette as he flicks away ash. “Why’d you stay?”

“Why?” Mickey laughs roughly. “Because I fucking love him, you fucking douche. Because I wanted him so badly that I’d take whatever he could give me. He was the first person in this fucking world who seemed to actually like _me_. He saw past all the shit and gave a fuck about me. How we made each other feel. How we could be ourselves with each other. How, no matter how fucking pissed off and vicious I seemed to be, he could reach right in and turn it around. How his words were sharper than knives and how they...weren’t.” Mickey drops his cigarette and grinds it out on the ground. “I’m not smart like you, dude. Or like Ian. I’m a dumb south side street thug who got lucky for a little while. And then my luck went away.”

“Very poetic.”

“Fuck off.” Mickey goes over and gets the gun off the couch. “You know what love is in my family?” Mickey points to his forehead where his father pistol whipped him. He lifts up his shirt to show the other faint scars from cigarette burns. “This. This is my mom dying. And my sister getting knocked up. And being gay. Half of them you can’t even see. That’s love in Terry’s book. What Ian gave me was...fuck. Why am I even trying to explain this to you? You don’t give a shit. You’re just here to put the blame on someone else for how fucked up and inadequate you feel. You hate that you can’t fix him. Well, he’s not fucking broken. He’s sick. He doesn’t need _fixed_. He needs help.”

“Then help me convince him to see a doctor.”

“I tried. I told him that I couldn’t stick around if he didn’t. I told him that I didn’t blame him for what happened, how we were. But I also told him that I couldn’t go through it again. If he doesn’t care enough about himself to get help, then he sure as fuck isn’t going to do it for me.” Mickey sticks the gun in the back of his pants and grabs his jacket off the ground, sliding it on. “See? You always knew we Milkoviches weren’t good for anything. Just proved it for ya.”

He leaves Lip there and jogs down the stairs. He’s not surprised to find Debbie at the bottom waiting like she’s Lip’s lookout or backup plan. “Hey, Mickey.”

“Gallagher.”

“Is...did...”

“Lip should be down in a few. Probably throwing something.” He scrubs his finger under his nose and sniffs. “See you.”

“Ian misses you.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“He needs you.”

“He needs a doctor.” Mickey shakes his head and looks up at the sky for a moment. “He’s bipolar. You know what people who are bipolar need? Meds. Therapy. Routine. Good sleeping habits. Good eating habits. I can’t give him any of those things.”

“He loves you.”

“Yeah? Tell him to prove it. He’ll know what that means.”

**

It’s two months before he sees or hears from a Gallagher again. He’s at the bakery he’s working at now to pick up a fucking cake for Yevgeny’s birthday. Like the kid wants a cake with anything on it other than a shitload of frosting. Still, at least he’s going to get a discount. It’s his fucking day off and he’s here at work, and the only good thing about it is that it’s not four in the fucking morning like normal. The owner is an Italian dude who thinks Mickey is the funniest guy on the planet, and he’s waiting with a box on the counter like he’s Indiana fucking Jones with the Ark. 

“Mickey! I have made the cake. It is the best cake.”

“I told you, Tony. I’m just going to take one of yesterday’s. The kid’s one. He doesn’t give a shit about fancy cakes.”

“This cake is the best cake.” He opens the lid of the box and there are two fists made out of icing with Yevgeny’s name spelled in black frosting across the knuckles. “A bruiser for your bruiser, eh?”

Mickey laughs. “You’re a nutcase.”

“My gift to the baby.”

“You’re a good nutcase.” Mickey takes the box. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bring me a piece of the cake. Corner piece. Lots of frosting.” Tony smiles and waves as Mickey and heads toward the door. He shakes his head as Tony starts singing, and digs out his phone texting Svetlana to see if there’s anything else they need before he heads home. He looks up just as he comes out the door and nearly loses his balance and the cake as a little human runs up and hugs his legs. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck?”

“Mickey!” 

Mickey looks down at Liam’s smiling face and he swallows hard. He supposes there’s a decent chance that the kid ran off and is here on his own. There’s a chance that the Gallaghers are so caught up in their own drama that no one thought to look after Liam, and Mickey’s not going to run into one of them when they come around the corner.

Mickey’s luck really did run out when he ended things with Ian.

“Mickey. Oh, hey.” Fiona glances back over her shoulder and then walks up to Liam and grabs his hand. “Let go of Mickey, Liam.”

“Hugging him.”

“I know. But hug time is over. We have to get going. And he has to get going. Right? You have to get going.”

“Yeah.” His phone pings and he looks down to see what else Svetlana wants him to get. He reads it off and looks up and Fiona’s eyes have gone wider and Ian’s standing not ten feet from him. “H-hey.”

“Hi.” Ian’s voice is soft, but he looks healthier than he did the last time Mickey saw him. Of course, given the circumstances of the last time he saw him, almost anything would have been an improvement. 

“You look good. All of you. Looking good. I’ve got to go get milk.” He turns on his heel and heads for the corner market, hoping he doesn’t look like he’s running away. He’s not running. He’s employing self-preservation techniques. Or running. Probably running.

He grabs a gallon off the shelf and pays for it. He’s got a view of the clinic across the street, and Ian’s standing in front of it with Fiona. His head’s down and hands are shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Fiona is rubbing her palm up and down his arm and he’s nodding, and Mickey’s not sure how it is that he feels like shit. He leaves the store as quickly as he can, heading the opposite direction so he doesn’t run into any more Gallaghers. He’s pretty sure three a day is his limit.

Of course he bought the wrong kind of milk and no one else thinks the cake is as funny as he does, but it’s still cake, which appeases most everyone, including Yevgeny who is wearing some on his clothes, on his face, and in his hair. There’s a knock at the door and even though, logically, Mickey knows Terry is on a run with Colin and Iggy and he wouldn’t knock, he still tenses, ready to bolt for the back door.

Mandy lays a hand on his arm. “I’ll get it.”

He doesn’t relax. He gets up from his chair and makes sure nothing is in his way. He doesn’t trust his dad not to destroy anything or anyone between them. Mandy opens the door and Mickey freezes in a way he never would with his dad. He glares hard at Mandy. She has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, though the longer she holds Mickey’s gaze, the more the thinks she’s actually just smug.

She cuts her eyes to the door and opens it wider. “Hey, Ian.”

“Hey.” He looks past her to Mickey then back at Mandy. “You didn’t tell him.”

“Forgot.”

“You can’t lie for shit,” Mickey mutters. Mandy just shrugs him off and steps back. 

“Come in. There’s cake.”

Ian comes inside, smiling at Yevgeny in his high chair. “Oh, man.” He pulls out his camera and snaps a picture just as Yevgeny smears a line of frosting down his face. “That’s great.”

Svetlana watches him carefully, looking for signs of something. He’s not sure how much she knows, and he’s not sure he wants to. He feels like he’s under a microscope, so he can’t imagine how Ian feels. Ian seems...calm. A lot like _Ian_.

“I need a smoke.” Mickey brushes past Mandy and goes out to the front porch. He gets halfway through the cigarette before Ian comes outside, leaning against the wood support opposite him. “She said she was going to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, Mandy’s a fucking bitch.” He says it lightly, so there’s no sting in it. “I didn’t know you even knew when his birthday was.”

“Well,” Ian grins at him. “To be fair, I didn’t know you did either.”

Mickey smirks at that, his mouth curving around his cigarette when he puts it back to his lips. “They made a big deal about it, like he gives a fuck.”

“I brought him a present. Well, I mean, more of Liam’s old clothes, but I made sure they were clean.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to, but thanks.”

Ian nods and rocks back onto his heels for a moment. “I can leave if you want.”

“It’s cool. Stay. Have cake.”

They stand there in silence as Mickey takes another hit off the cigarette and stares at the cherry. Ian clears his throat. “So...Mandy says you’re working at that bakery?”

“Mandy apparently says a lot of shit that’s none of her fucking business.”

“It bothers you that we’re still friends, doesn’t it? Shit. I didn’t think about that at all. Fuck.”

“Please. Like I could fucking tell Mandy what to do. It’s fine.” He shakes his head. “She and I talked. She likes you. Thinks you need someone to be a friend. Thinks she can do that. Seems like she does.”

“But she’s your sister.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve probably noticed we’re not sticklers for family loyalty.” He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette and blows out some smoke before offering it to Ian and letting him kill it. “You look good.”

“Thanks. I feel...well, not good. Better. They had me on Lithium, but it made me a zombie, so now we’re trying Depakote and Lamictal. So far I’m pretty stable. It’s like mixing a cocktail, the doctor says. Finding the right balance. I told him I normally just drink straight from a bottle.”

Mickey laughs. “Fancy drinks and shit aren’t your style, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, like they’re yours?”

His smile stays as he tilts his head. “It’s working for you?”

“Well, I’m still crazy. Apparently that doesn’t actually go away.”

“You ever notice the bad shit’s always like that? Good stuff fucks off all the time, but the bad just lasts.” Something flickers in Ian’s eyes and Mickey feels like a complete dick. “I should get back inside.”

“I’m seeing someone.”

It takes Mickey a moment to decipher the rush of words and a moment longer to process them. It certainly wasn’t anything he expected Ian to say and he sure as fuck doesn’t expect the murderous rage that comes with the words. “Well. Congratu-fucking-lations.”

“What?” Ian looks confused and then his eyes widen. “No. God, no! Not like that. Shit. No, Mick.” He reaches out, stopping before he actually makes contact. “Someone at the clinic. A counselor.”

“Oh.” Mickey swallows hard, embarrassed by his outburst. “Um. Good. That’s good. It’s helping? I mean he is? Or she is?” He doesn’t want to analyze why he hopes Ian’s counselor is a woman. The only shrink he can think of is that Freud dude, and some creepy old man in a room alone with Ian is something Mickey tries really fucking hard not to think about. Especially if Ian’s talking about banging creepy old dudes.

“He’s good. Kind of new at the whole thing. But he’s nice. And he listens.”

“Good.” The thought of some young guy alone in a room with Ian isn’t much better, but Mickey’s got no room to say anything, and no reason to feel this way. No right anyway. “Well, I’m glad. That it’s helping.”

Ian’s got a small smile on his face and something about it makes Mickey flush.

“What?”

“Your face is really expressive.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Mickey’s very aware of what it means, and he really wants this conversation to be over.

“One of the things my counselor said was I should probably stay away from sexual relationships right now, since sex and sexual and emotional manipulation are a thing for me.”

“He caught that, huh?”

“I told him about you. Us.”

It’s strange to feel the frisson of panic, of fear again. Having strangers know who and what he is. He nods though, frowning. “What’d you tell him?”

“What happened. How I treated you. What you did for me.”

“That when he told you to stay away from sex?”

“Yes, actually.”

He schools his face not to show how much that hurts. “Wow. Even a guy who doesn’t know me wants me to stay away from you. I must make quite an impression.”

“You do, but it’s not like that. Or about that. This is about what I did. What I do. So he wants _me_ to stay away from you. Which I’m kind of doing a really shitty job of.”

“You’re not here to see me though, right?” Mickey heads to the door. “We should go in before he ends up wearing the entire cake.” 

“Mick?”

Mickey stops and closes his eyes for a second. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Well, you know, you’re an okay guy, Gallagher.”

“Yeah?” The hope in Ian’s voice is probably the most painful thing Mickey’s heard since Ian asked if he still loved him before he walked out. The most hopeful thing he’s heard since Ian asked him if they had a booty call. Christ. 

“Yeah. You weren’t manic when this all started. You and me. So, you know, I think I can trust that, right? I mean, you were a fucking pain in the ass, but...”

Ian nods. He looks grateful and Mickey sort of feels like shit. He opens the door and waits for Ian to go inside, following him and allowing himself the illicit luxury of _looking_ at him.

When he looks up, Svetlana is smirking at him from her seat at the table. He makes a face and flips her off. She turns her attention to Ian instead. 

“So you are crazy now. You go to asylum?”

Ian takes a piece of cake and shrugs. “Psych review. Went home. Went manic again. Tried to decapitate Debbie with a baseball bat.”

“Jesus, Ian,” Mandy whispers. 

“Not my finest hour. 72-hour observation and the official diagnosis. Meds. Felt like a zombie. Denial. Flushed my meds. Then I locked myself and Liam in the van and refused to come out, screaming that I wouldn’t let them take him. Whoever they were.” He stabs a bite of the cake and eats it, licking frosting off his upper lip. Even with what Ian’s saying, Mickey can’t help but watch, stare. At least he manages not to make a noise, though he’s honestly not sure how.

“And they lock you up again?”

“The cops busted out the windows. Took me in for child endangerment.”

“Shit, Ian.” Mandy’s voice shakes which seems even more noticeable giving how steady and flat Ian’s voice was through the recitation of it all. She does manage to keep her hand steady as she slaps him hard on his arm. “What the fuck?”

“Well, crazy.” He shrugs and his lower lip quivers, and Mickey realizes how much of his calm is an act. Ian’s scared of what he’s saying, what he’s done. Of what he is. “And apparently between me and Fiona, Liam’s taking the brunt of it. Anyway, another evaluation. More pills. Different pills. Court ordered visits to the shrink.”

“You didn’t tell me _any_ of this!” This time Mandy kicks him in the shin. “You fucker.”

“Ow. Jesus. Quit it!” Ian puts his hand on the back of Mandy’s chair and curls his fist around it tight enough that his knuckles go white. “It’s not like this is something I’m going around bragging about.”

“I’m your best friend. You’re supposed to _tell_ me things!”

“Anyway,” Mickey interrupts, cutting off anything else either of them was about to say.

“Right.” Ian nods and looks at Svetlana. “So here I am.”

“Do not want crazy around baby.”

“Ian’s good with him.”

Svetlana nails Mickey with a look. “Was good with brother until wasn’t.”

“Liam wasn’t in any real danger,” Mandy says, looking at Ian for reassurance.

“You mean other than being locked up with me?” Ian smiles wryly. “I’d never hurt Liam. Didn’t even scare him. When I came back home, he acted like we’d been playing a game.”

“See?” Mandy says, looking at Svetlana with a mixture of triumph and warning.

“No hurt baby.” Svetlana shrugs. “Just man you say you love.”

“Shut up,” Mickey warns her.

“Is true.” She gets up and goes to the kitchen, wetting a cloth and coming back to start cleaning. Mandy opens her mouth to say something, but her phone chirps and interrupts her. She pulls it out, but Mickey’s already moving toward the back door, pausing to kiss Yevgeny on the top of the head. 

“They’re about 20 minutes out,” Mandy says.

“C’mon, Gallagher.” Mickey nods toward the back. “Terry’s on his way home.”

“He’s not back in prison?”

“Not yet. Come on.”

Ian follows Mickey out the back, jogging down the stairs. They get onto the next block and Mickey slows down. Ian adjusts the length of his stride to stay in step with Mickey. “I’m surprised he’s still out.”

“That makes two of us, to be honest. My guess is he just hasn’t gotten caught yet.”

“Or killed.”

“I’m not sure which seems more likely.” Mickey tenses slightly when Ian steps closer to avoid someone else on the sidewalk as they near the Alibi. Ian’s mouth twitches in an almost smile and Mickey rolls his eyes. “You coming in?”

Ian looks at the bar. “I’m not really supposed to drink on my meds, so I’m a really cheap date. Not that this is a date.”

“Because you’re staying away from romantic and sexual relationships.” It’s almost a question, and Mickey hopes it doesn’t sound like a dare or a challenge.

“Exactly.” Ian points at him. “But you can still buy me a beer.”

“I don’t remember offering to buy.” Mickey cocks an eyebrow at him and Ian laughs. “You’re being awfully presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous? Are you doing some sort of vocabulary word a day or something?”

“Fuck you.” Mickey slams his shoulder into Ian. Ian dances out of the way, grinning happily. Something inside Mickey aches at the sight, a small blossom of loss he can’t control and can’t get rid of. “Just because I’m not a fucking genius doesn’t mean I’m a fucking idiot.”

Ian’s brow furrows. “I know that. I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“Okay. Good.” Mickey deflates slightly, tension easing. He opens the door and goes inside. All the usual suspects are present and accounted for, including Frank.

“Fuck,” Ian mutters.

“We could go upstairs.” Mickey shrugs as Ian’s eyebrows go up. “For a beer, Gallagher. You’re not that fucking irresistible.”

“Liar.” Ian smiles and follows Mickey through the bar, steadfastly ignoring Frank expounding on the misuse of medication in treating people and the overuse of the term mentally ill for people who refuse to be constrained by society. Mickey notices Ian’s hands curling into fists and leans in.

“I’ll hold him, you beat the shit out of him.”

“He’s too drunk to feel it, and he’s definitely not worth it.” Ian exhales slowly and unclenches his fists. “Come on.”

Mickey leads the way, Ian not far behind him. He knows this is probably a bad idea, because even if Ian’s sworn off him, he’s still addicted to Ian. He unlocks the door and goes directly to the mini-fridge, pulling out two beers and tossing one to Ian. He catches it and pops it open, watching Mickey over the rim of the can as he drinks. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Gotten rid of the whores, the milk maids, and the rats?”

“You put up pictures.”

There are two framed photos sitting on the table beside the bed, one of Yevgeny and one of Ian. He’s had it for a long time now, and it’s visibly crumpled beneath the glass. “That was there last time you were here. Just been too busy to redecorate.”

Ian goes over to the picture and frowns. “I don’t remember you taking this.”

“Long time ago now.” Mickey takes a drink of his own beer and grabs one of the ladder-back chairs, turning it around so he can straddle it. “You working?”

“Yeah. Washing dishes and bussing tables at a restaurant. Living the glamorous life.”

“Better than sitting at home.”

“True.” Ian puts the picture back where he found it, grabbing a chair of his own and sitting across from Mickey. He takes a sip of his beer and folds his arms over the back of his chair, resting his chin on his forearm. “So, you know what I’ve been up to. What about you? How’d the bakery happen?”

“Well, working in the family business got tough, since my dad would probably kill me as soon as look at me. Pretty much blew off the warehouse job...”

“Sorry,” Ian says, his voice soft and expression rueful.

“I was at the store, going to pick up some doughnuts. Craving doughnuts, you know? I’m waiting in line and some stupid bitch is taking for-fucking-ever to make up her mind, and there were four of us waiting, so finally I shoved her aside, dumped some doughnuts into the box and told her to get the fuck out.”

Ian grins widely. “And they _hired_ you?”

“Tony, he’s the owner, saw me and told me I should channel my aggression into kneading dough, and I told him my aggression was _from_ needing dough.” Mickey smiles when Ian’s laugh, embarrassed by how much he loves the sound. “He told me I was funny and I needed to work for him, show up the next day at four in the morning. I told him he was fucking crazy.”

“But you showed up.”

“I showed up to get some fucking doughnuts.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey says with a smile. “Anyway.”

“You like it?”

“Beats running numbers.” Mickey shrugs and sips his beer, aware he’s drinking slowly and matching Ian’s pace. He wants to talk about how much he actually likes his job, that he’s good at it. Wants Ian to be proud of him, maybe. “So, if you want doughnuts, I’m your guy. Cakes, pies, pastries of any kind really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Are you working out again?” Mickey flushes and wants to slam his head into the wall. Could he be more inane? “I mean, you look good.” He can feel more heat flood his face. That was worse.

“Drugs can cause weight gain, so I’m getting back into doing my ROTC workouts.”

“Same place?”

“Yeah. Why? Want to come and use me for target practice?”

“I never actually _hit_ you. If you’d been target practice, I wouldn’t have missed.” Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “And as I recall, I’m the one who actually ended up getting shot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian rolls his eyes.

“ _Twice_.”

“I know, Jesus.” Ian flips him off.

Mickey laughs. “Whatever. Not like you shot me. But you’ve really got to work on the whole jealous boyfriend thing.”

“Ned wasn’t my boyfriend. Besides he didn’t shoot you. That was a jealous wife. I’ve only had two boyfriends, if that’s what you want to call Kash.”

Mickey’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Asshole is what I call him.”

“And that would be the other jealous boyfriend.” Ian smiles at him, eyes bright. “Not sure if Kash was jealous so much as pissed it was you.”

“Pissed your taste improved.”

“That it did.” Ian takes another drink then stands up. “I should get going, I think.” His eyes drop to Mickey’s mouth then dart away. He licks his lips and swallows, careful not to look at Mickey.

“Oh, sure.” Mickey stands as well, holding onto the chair to keep his hands to himself. “Thanks. For coming to the party.”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” Ian shoves his hands in his pockets. “It was nice. Hanging out.”

“Yeah.” Mickey smiles. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be friends or something, huh?”

Ian shakes his head slightly. “Given how much I want to pin you to the wall right now, probably not.” Ian’s voice is low and deep and hits Mickey’s nerves like an electric current. “So I’m going to go and call my counselor. After I jerk off like crazy.”

“Oh.” Mickey’s not sure what else to do other than cross the room and crash into Ian so he holds onto the chair tighter, feeling the burn in his knuckles. It actually takes effort to swallow. “Well. Yeah. You should probably do that. Go, I mean.”

“Thanks for the beer.”

“Absolutely. Anytime.”

Ian gives him a smile that makes Mickey’s cock jerk even though there’s a tinge of sadness to it. Mickey watches him go and refuses to move. Ian shuts the door behind him and Mickey turns and sinks down onto the chair. His hands are shaking. _He’s_ shaking. He hears Ian’s steps as he goes down the stairs, fading once he hits the ground. As soon as he can’t hear anything, Mickey’s scrabbling at his jeans, desperate to get them off and get a hand on his dick. He shoves his pants down his thighs and wraps his fist around his cock as he closes his eyes so he can still see Ian.

**

Mickey dusts his hands off on his apron, sending up two small clouds of flour into the air. Tony’s out back arguing with the delivery man who happens to be his cousin, so he’s probably actually having a smoke. Mickey doesn’t mind, since it means he’ll have a chance later, except the bell at the front of the shop rings. “Tony!”

There’s no answer, so Mickey rips off his stupid hair net and stomps up to the front counter. “Yeah?”

“Wow, customer service really is your forte, isn’t it?”

Mickey can’t help looking Ian over. It’s officially been a couple of weeks since he’s seen him, if he doesn’t count jerking off to the mental image of him every night. “Oh, yeah. I’m employee of the month.”

“I’ll bet.” Ian walks along the glass display case of cakes and other pastries. “What’s your favorite?”

“Favorite what?”

“Treat.”

Mickey manages not to say ‘you’, but it takes effort. “Maple bar, I guess. I mean, if you’re talking doughnuts.” He glances back at the kitchen. “What brings you here?”

“Hungry.”

“Huh. That so? You know there are, like, four places that sell doughnuts and shit between your house and here, right?”

“I also wanted to get something nice for the family. And you said you were my guy for that.”

“Right.” Mickey inhales. “What are you looking for?”

“Not sure. You give out samples?”

“No.” Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and sighs as Ian pouts. “Fine. I’ve got some cake scraps. Hang on.” He goes back to the icing table and gathers some of the cake Tony had shaved off to even the layers. He brings it to Ian on a paper towel and sets it on top of the case.

Ian picks up a piece and eats it. “Shit. This is good. Did you make this?”

“Tony does all the fancy shit, but he’s letting me do some of the baking. I was fucking around and tried this out.”

“Seriously, Mick. This is amazing. I mean, the cake at the birthday party was good, but this is even better.”

“Dude, Tony made that one. Are you trying to get me fired?” He breaks off a piece and eats it. “Dark chocolate, raspberry and vanilla bean.”

“Shit.” Ian sucks the crumbs off his fingers. “Can I get that?”

“Cake or cupcakes?” Mickey looks away from Ian’s fingers and his mouth. Shit.

“Surprise me.”

Mickey laughs and gets out a box, placing the cardboard holder inside it and filling the empty circles with cupcakes. “Seems kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

Ian’s brow furrows and he tilts his head. “What?”

“That I’m working in a fucking bakery.”

“You like it. You’re good at it.” Ian smiles at him, bright and warm and Mickey almost drops one of the cupcakes. “Nothing ridiculous about that.”

“Except every asshole on the south side thinks I’m a big old gay joke.”

“And you beat the shit out of them.”

Mickey shrugs. “Too many assholes. Not enough time to make them all bleed.” Mickey closes the box carefully and brings it to the counter beside the register. 

“How much?”

“It’s on me.”

“Mickey...”

“I’m glad you’re doing better. Consider it a late ‘get well soon’ gift.”

Ian reaches out and runs a finger along the edge of the box. “My counselor told me I should stay away from you.”

“He’s not going to do you much good if you don’t listen to him.”

“I told him I couldn’t. That just because I can’t be involved with you doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

“Ian.”

“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to still feel it. Hell, after everything I did to you, I’m surprised you even talk to me.”

“You were sick.”

“Yeah. But I also liked it a little too much. Not hurting you. It was never that. It was just feeling like I had power over something. Control.”

The bell over the door jingles and two of Tony’s regulars walk into the store. Tony comes bustling in from the back, making Mickey wonder how long he’d been listening. He grabs the cupcake box and hands it to Mickey. “Go. See you tomorrow.”

“Tony.”

“Go.” He looks straight at Mickey, daring him to argue. Mickey sighs and sets the box down so he can take off his apron. Tony starts speaking Italian to the elderly couple and Mickey ducks under the counter and grabs the cupcakes again. 

“Come on, Gallagher. If I try to argue with him, he’ll start muttering at me and throw out my sourdough starter.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I’ll assume it’s bad.” Ian takes the box from Mickey and leads the way outside.

“You should probably get those home.”

“Are you dating anyone?” Ian doesn’t look at him, staring across the street at the do not walk signal. “Jeff again? Or...or anyone?”

“No. Nobody since you.” That’s not entirely true, since he’d spent a good month after leaving Ian trying to find someone to fuck Ian out of his head. “Nobody serious.”

Ian starts walking and Mickey falls in step with him without even thinking. “I told him I left before anything happened between us. Between me and my hand...”

“Ian,” Mickey groans lightly. “Stop, okay? I can’t...” He takes a breath and stops, waiting for Ian to do the same. “I love you. I love you and I need you and I want you. Hasn’t changed. Is never going to change as far as I can tell. You don’t have to tease me with what we...what I can’t have, okay?”

“I’m not...I mean, I don’t...”

“I want you to be healthy. I want you to be okay. I want you to be happy. And right now whatever the dude suggests is designed to make you feel that way. So you need to do what he says.”

“He says I should have a solid support system.”

“And you’ve got your family.”

“No. I mean, yes. But none of them seem to...none of them are you. None of them look at me and just see _me_. None of them are the person who took care of me when this all started. You. You, Mickey. You don’t see Monica. You stayed with me, even though I was hurting you. And that matters more to me than anything. Even when you should have worked me over and shoved me onto the tracks, you stayed. I was fucking _horrible_ to you, but you stayed.”

“Glutton for punishment maybe.” He says it lightly, but Ian tenses.

“I guess...I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m really sorry.”

Mickey nods and sniffs. “Take your damn cupcakes home.”

“Bossy.” Ian grins and moves in quickly, giving Mickey a soft kiss on the cheek. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“That makes two of us.” Mickey rolls his eyes at Ian’s smile. “Jesus. Go the fuck away.”

**

“I am so fucked.” Mickey says when he flops down on Mandy’s bed. “Like the most fucked I’ve ever been.”

“I don’t need to hear about you taking it up the ass.” Mandy points her cigarette at him. “Because I am your sister, not your best friend. Not that you have friends.”

“I’m in love with Ian.”

“No fucking shit, asshole.”

“No. I mean, yes. But I think he’s...fuck. Flirting with me or some shit.”

She shoves his arm with her foot. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to do that.” 

“He’s not. But it’s fucking Ian. And...and I don’t know what to do.” He closes his eyes tight. He’s already spent too much of his life crying because of Ian.

“If his counselor says no, then you have to stay away from him so he can get better.”

“What about me?” He knows he sounds pathetic. “What am I supposed to do?”

Her voice is soft. “I don’t know, Mick.”

“Your help fucking sucks.” He laughs thickly. “You know I was perfectly fucking happy in the fucking closet. Hell, I could even get it up for girls.”

“So you’re bi.”

“No. I used to have a keen survival instinct and a lot of denial. Right now I can’t...shit. Why am I telling you this?”

Mandy puts her cigarette to her lips. “I could talk to him. Tell him to leave you alone.”

“Probably should.” His voice breaks and he presses his face to her thigh. Tears burn his eyes, leaking onto her jeans. His body shakes with a sob.

“Shit.” Mandy sounds panicked, but her hand strokes through his hair. “Mickey.”

He pulls away and sits up, wiping his eyes and then scrubbing his face. “I’ll tell him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mandy scoots down the bed and sits next to him, pressing her shoulder against his. “Let me. Please?”

“You know the worst thing?” He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs them with his thumb and pointer finger. His voice is choked, raw. “I don’t know if any of it was even real.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ian. Us. Me.” He stares down at his hands, at the tattoos on his knuckles. “Maybe it was just the disorder, you know?”

Mandy slams her fist down onto Mickey’s thigh.

“ _Ow_! The fuck?”

“Don’t you dare fucking say that. You and Ian are in love. You’re, like, the shiny fucking example of love. True love. Like, love in the fucking movies. So don’t even fucking act like it’s not real.”

“It’s real for me.” Mickey shrugs. “I don’t know for him. Maybe I’m his crutch. His safety net.”

Mandy hits him on the thigh again twice, each time harder than the last, before he catches her wrist. 

“Fucking _stop_ it.”

“How can you think he doesn’t love you?” Mandy uses her other hand to punch him again. “Why do you think he cares so much about getting better? You think he likes taking five pills a day? You think he wants to do that for the rest of his life?”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t want the alternative.”

“He wants to be better. Yeah, for him and for his family, but for you too. So he can be with you. Why are you so fucking _dumb_?”

“Fuck you.”

“Like you could even get it up,” she sneers.

“Ew. Fuck, Mandy. You’re my _sister_.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re not my type. _Ian_...Ian’s my type. But, well, he’s got shitty taste.”

Mickey tackles her to the bed and starts tickling her until she starts shrieking and fighting back, fighting dirty. Svetlana comes to the room and slams her fist on the door. 

“Baby is sleeping!” she practically shouts.

Yevgeny starts to cry and Svetlana glares at them then whirls away from the door. Mickey and Mandy try to stop laughing, but don’t manage it until Svetlana comes back in and sets a sobbing Yevgeny on the bed and nails Mickey with a look.

“You deal with baby.”

Mickey casts a pleading look at Mandy as Yevgeny crawls up his legs and into his lap. “Mandy?”

“No way. Fruit of your looms, dude.” She slides off the bed, reaching out to ruffle Yevgeny’s hair. “I’m going to go hang with Ian.”

“Mandy!” He reaches out to grab her but she dances out of the way. “Goddamn it.” He flops back onto the bed, lifting his head to look at Yevgeny. “Chicks and dudes both suck, kid. I’d tell you to be a monk, but sex is kind of worth it. Okay, sex with Ian is worth it.” 

Yevgeny makes a noise and snuggles against Mickey’s stomach.

“But Ian’s mine. So hands off.”

**

_‘meet me @ rotc practice place?’_

_‘work until 3’_

_‘meet me?”_

_‘not sure thats good idea’_

_‘pls? Just talk & if u want wont bother u anymore after’_

_‘i dont know’_

_‘meet me?”_

_‘yes’._

Mickey shoves his phone in his pocket and goes to grab a new pair of gloves. He heads back over to the industrial mixer and grabs the flour. He can feel Tony’s stare, so he looks up. “What?”

“Was that your boy?”

“My kid’s a year old. Not quite up for texting.”

“Your boy. The boy from the other day.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm.” Tony shakes his head. “Love is love, you know. I don’t care who it is. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re not anything.” Mickey carefully pours the flour into the stainless steel bowl so that it doesn’t spray a cloud of powder. “Friends. Maybe.”

“He doesn’t look at you like friends.”

“Well, you should get your eyes checked. And you need to get the croissants out of the oven.”

“Yes, sir.” Tony salutes and goes back to work, and Mickey does his best to ignore him and the clock. He fails at both, catching Tony’s smile out of the corner of his eye and, as far as he can tell, time’s not moving at all.

“Mickey. We’re slow today. Go.”

“I need the money, man.”

“You can stay late on Monday.”

He hesitates, chewing on the inside of his lip. “You sure?”

“Go.”

Mickey nods and manages a small smile. “Thanks, man.”

“I will have many things for you to do on Monday.”

“Yeah.” Mickey tugs off his hairnet and gloves, tossing them in the trash then unties his apron and tosses it on the hook next to his hoodie. Grabbing that, he heads out the back door, pretending he can’t hear Tony singing some fucking Italian love song. He heads to the Alibi, darting up the back stairs and letting himself in. He locks the door and starts stripping on the way to the shower. He’s berating himself for even thinking about showering and changing to go see Ian, but he’s also humming that fucking song of Tony’s.

Ian’s in sweats and a tank top and he’s drenched in sweat when Mickey gets there. He’s doing push-ups, his arms in high relief. Mickey really should have just done this the easy way and shot himself in the face. Ian glances up and sees Mickey and levers himself to his feet, wiping his hands on his thighs. His palms are taped against blisters and the rough ground, but they’re slightly red around the edges of the tape. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Mickey clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to work out with me.”

“You insinuating something, Gallagher?”

“I ate two of those cupcakes. You _work_ with those cupcakes.”

“I make ‘em not eat ‘em.”

Ian’s smile trembles slightly. “Motivation is hard sometimes.” He speaks softly like he’s either not sure of what he’s saying or not sure he should be saying it. “I mean, the meds keep me from feeling like I have to stay in bed all day, but sometimes doing more than getting up is hard.”

“You’re working though.”

“Washing dishes and cleaning up the messes people make is really the kind of thing that makes you want to take on the world.”

“That’s the mania, right?”

Ian laughs a little. “Well, yeah. But something good, something to look forward to. That helps. Without the mania. Which is sort of the goal.”

Mickey sighs. “Ian...”

“I talked to my counselor. About you. I mean, he knows about you, obviously. But I told him what I feel. How I feel. That I miss you. That I want a chance to try again. If...if you do.”

Mickey’s careful to keep any inflection out of his voice. “What’d he say?”

“He asked if you would come and see him. Talk to him.” Mickey looks away like he’s afraid to meet Mickey’s eyes. 

“You want me to go to a shrink?”

“No. Not...He wants to talk to you. Tell him what you think about us. About trying again.”

“Assuming I want to try.”

Ian takes a step back and nods. “Yeah. And if not, you could probably give him some insight about what I was like. Before. I mean during.”

“What do you want, Ian?” Mickey tilts his head, looking at Ian steadily. He keeps his voice soft. “What are you hoping for?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if I have the right to hope for anything. But I guess...I guess just a chance.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and rocks back on his heels, looking down at his feet. “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Ian brushes his hands on his sweats again. “Do you think you’d be okay working out with me? I mean, would you want to?”

“Not today. Not in this. These are my best jeans. I’ll stick around though. If you want company. Shout things at you. Motivational things. Like ‘go team’ and ‘kick that pull-up in the ass’ and shit.”

Ian laughs, a huge relieved smile on his face. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Mickey walks over to the roof extension that houses the roof access door and boosts himself up as Ian stretches to warm up again. “I’m still going to kick your ass for insinuating I’m soft, you know.”

“Well.” Ian grabs the bar again and starts a round of pull-ups. “You can try.”

**

Mickey debates going to see Ian’s counselor over and over in his head. Part of him wants to do it, hopes that he could help Ian and also because he hopes that he and Ian can be together again, work things out, work through it. And part of him is petrified that the counselor will tell Mickey that he’s not good for Ian.

He’s not sure how much it would hurt to know he’s not just not good enough for Ian, but that he’s not good for him at all.

He shows up at Ian’s makeshift training camp the next day and keeps it up for over a week, before Ian’s staring at him as he wipes his neck, something obviously on his mind. “Doug asked about you today.”

“Me?” Mickey frowns, trying to figure out if he knows anyone named Doug, drawing a blank. “Who the fuck is Doug?”

“My counselor.”

“Oh.”

“Have you thought about it at all? Talking to him?”

He really hasn’t thought about anything else since Ian brought it up. “What if he says stay away from each other?” Mickey likes hanging out with Ian, pushing each other. It’s also a good way to work out his sexual frustration since Ian hot and sweaty with his muscles straining is distracting as fuck. It’s also amazing fuel for jerking off every night.

Mickey’s pretty sure he was telling Ian the truth and he _is_ a glutton for punishment.

“Then...I guess we’d...stop.” There’s a hint of fear in Ian’s voice, a shakiness that makes Mickey ache to go to him, comfort him. He actually takes a step toward Ian before making himself stop. Mickey squints against the sun then jumps up to grab the pull-up bar. He does two reps of ten in quick succession then drops back down. Ian’s watching him, green eyes dark. Mickey nods at him. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Hoping he’ll say yes? Or no?” Ian’s voice reminds Mickey of when everything started between them. A mixture of fear and hope. “Fuck,” Mickey mutters under his breath, stalking over to Ian and wrapping his hand around the back of Ian’s neck, pulling him down.

Mickey groans hungrily at the first taste of Ian’s mouth. He feels like a starving man getting his first taste of food, like a parched man diving into a lake of fresh clean water. He licks at Ian’s mouth, their tongues sliding against each other.

Ian wraps his arm around Mickey’s waist, pulling him closer, pulling him up so their bodies are flush. Ian moans into his mouth, the sound breaking on something like a sob. 

Mickey’s other hand fists in Ian’s hair, and he wraps a leg around Ian’s, gasping as their dicks slide together. Ian grabs Mickey’s ass and hikes him up so Mickey can wrap both legs around him. Ian turns and walks them a few feet forward and presses Mickey to the wall, his weight settling against Mickey’s body. It feels like coming home.

“Oh god.” Ian squeezes Mickey’s ass and lifts him higher. “God, yes. Mick. Want you. Love you. Please. Need you so much.”

“Fuck, Ian.” Mickey kisses him harder, lips and tongues grinding together. He grabs at the collar of Ian’s shirt, tugging it up. Ian’s knee presses up against Mickey’s ass and he lets Mickey go long enough to pull his shirt off. Mickey doesn’t waste time latching onto Ian’s throat, tasting sweat and heat and _Ian_.

Ian whimpers and tugs Mickey’s shirt up and off, making Mickey growl in frustration when he has to pull away, though he’s back at Ian’s neck before it even comes all the way off. Their sweats are both tented with their erections, and Mickey doesn’t hesitate to get his hand inside Ian’s and wrap his fist around him. 

Ian’s head falls back. “F-fuck.”

Mickey pulls back and looks at the dark red bruises he’s left on Ian’s skin. Pressing one of them with his thumb, Mickey licks a stripe along Ian’s collarbone. Ian squeezes Mickey’s ass again. “Need to be inside you. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck.” Mickey scrapes his teeth over Ian’s shoulder and squeezes his dick one last time as Ian lowers him. Mickey turns and shoves his sweats and underway down before backing himself on the wall. He hears Ian sucking on his fingers while his other hand massages Mickey’s ass. Mickey closes his eyes as Ian’s fingers brush his hole, press against it. “Do it.”

Ian pushes more firmly against the muscle and Mickey bites his lower lip hard and focuses on the pain there, trying to stay relaxed as Ian’s fingers breach him. Mickey’s dick flags at the push, at the curve of Ian’s finger. “So fucking tight. Jesus.”

Mickey presses his head against the wall, feeling the rough concrete digging into his forehead. Ian works his finger deeper and then starts thrusting it slowly. Mickey jerks every time Ian’s knuckle brushes the rim of his hole and his dick quivers, filling out again. “Yeah. M-more. Fuck. More.”

Ian’s hand tightens on Mickey’s ass, pulling the skin tight as he presses his second finger in. Mickey groans desperately and he shakes his head, rolling it against the wall. It hurts and feels good all at once like the spread of Ian’s fingers. Mickey rises up on his toes, wanting Ian deeper.

“Take me?”

“Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Now.” He knows he’s not really ready. It’s been too long, but he can’t wait any longer. He needs it.

Ian keeps working his fingers and Mickey can’t help making noises. Some are in protest because he wants Ian’s dick and others are simply because Ian feels so good. “The way you sound. The way you feel.” Ian eases his fingers free and presses his dick against the cleft of Mickey’s ass, leaving a trail of wet down to his hole. The head slides against Mickey’s opening then presses harder, opening Mickey up as Ian pushes in slowly.

Mickey’s breath catches, his chest tight. “Oh my god, Ian. Fuck.” His words hitch, his voice thick. “Missed this. Missed you. Jesus. F-fuck me.”

That’s all the encouragement Ian seems to need to grab Mickey’s hips. His fingers dig in and then he’s moving, thrusting slowly at first, but then gathering speed and power as Mickey’s body opens for him. Mickey pounds his fist against the wall, fighting for breath. Ian’s hips crash into him, Ian’s hands guiding each collision.

This is why no one could fuck Ian out of his head. No one else fucks him like Ian does. No one else finds the right balance of pleasure and pain. No one else feels so right, like they’re made for Mickey, perfect inside him, against him, over him.

“Dream about this,” Ian pants in Mickey’s ear, against his skin. “About you.”

Mickey turns his head, the kiss wet and awkward, but still Ian’s mouth on his. Ian’s thrusts slow as they kiss, his grip easing on Mickey’s hip, rubbing a light circle on the tender spot. Ian catches Mickey’s lower lip between his teeth and sucks on it. Mickey reaches back and wraps his hand around Ian’s neck, holding him there.

“Fuck.” Ian releases Mickey’s lip and pulls back. Mickey braces himself for the inward stroke, but instead Ian pulls out. Mickey whines at the back of his throat, but Ian turns him around, stepping on Mickey’s sweats to pull them off of him. “Need to see you. Need to see you when I fuck you. Need to watch you come.”

Mickey hooks his leg around Ian, pressing his shoulders hard against the wall and pushing up onto the balls of his feet to give them the height they need for Ian to lift him. Ian lifts Mickey then slides one of his arms around Mickey’s back to support him while the other guides Ian’s dick inside him.

“Christ.” Mickey drags the moan out as Ian buries himself deep. Ian stops, breathing hard, eyes caught on Mickey’s. As stupid as it sounds, it feels like Mickey’s heart stops. Like time stops.

“I love you,” Ian whispers. His lashes are damp, his skin flushed. He leans in and kisses Mickey, slow and hungry. Mickey wraps his arms around Ian’s neck. It changes his posture, and Ian moves deeper.

Mickey swallows hard, tightening his legs around Ian. “Fuck me. Please, Ian.”

Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck and thrusts his hips. Both of them gasp and still for a moment before Ian starts moving in earnest. Mickey’s back and shoulders scrape against the wall, and he knows they’ll be a mess when they’re done. He wouldn’t change a thing, not willing to miss any of this – any feeling, any moment.

“Mickey, god.” Ian lifts Mickey higher then pushes up, never breaking his rhythm, hard and deep. Mickey’s heels dig into Ian’s legs and he slides one hand down Ian’s chest, fingers grazing over his nipple. Ian moans roughly as the hard nub tightens further at Mickey’s touch. He rubs a steady circle around it then swipes his thumb over it, catching it with the edge of his nail. Ian’s head falls back and then he crowds closer, grinding up into Mickey, Mickey’s dick caught between them.

“Shit,” Mickey moans at the pressure, the slide of his dick against Ian’s stomach. He leaves behind trails of pre-come on Ian’s skin with every thrust.

Ian’s hands are bruising Mickey’s ass, and Mickey knows he’ll have Ian’s fingerprints on him for days. He squeezes and spreads Mickey’s ass cheeks wider apart, grunting roughly as he thrusts harder. “Close. G-god. So...” 

Mickey tightens the muscles of his ass, constricting around Ian’s dick. Ian’s breath catches and his weight shifts, pinning Mickey to the wall, hips jerking as he buries his head against Mickey’s neck and sucks hotly at the skin as he comes/

“Please. Fuck. Please, Ian. _Please_.”

Ian bites Mickey’s neck. His hips keep rocking as Ian reaches between them and wraps his fist around Mickey’s slick cock. It only takes a few tight strokes before Mickey comes in Ian’s fist, on their stomachs.

Ian pants hot and breathy on Mickey’s skin. Mickey’s not sure if he’s breathing too fast or not at all. Ian nuzzles the hollow beneath Mickey’s ear. “Love you, Mickey. So much.”

Mickey shivers at the words, emotionally and physically overloaded. He can’t manage words of his own, but he turns his head to catch Ian’s mouth in a kiss. When they pull apart, both breathless this time, Ian carefully eases out of Mickey, lowering him to the ground. Ian’s leg muscles are quivering, and Mickey’s aren’t much better.

Ian reaches for his towel that he’d dropped when Mickey kissed him, snapping it to clear off any durst or rocks before he carefully wipes Mickey’s stomach clean before doing the same to his own. He offers Mickey the towel to clean up further.

Mickey wipes his ass, though he knows he’s going to have Ian inside him for a while. “Should probably just throw this away, huh?”

Ian opens his mouth to say something, but he freezes, lips parted and eyes wide. 

“What?”

“Blood.”

“Huh?” Mickey follows Ian’s gaze to the towel. “Oh.”

“I hurt you?”

Mickey can hear the fear in Ian’s voice, like the thought of hurting Mickey is more than he can handle. The thought of hurting Mickey _again_. “Just my back, dude.” Mickey looks over his shoulder to the raw and broken skin, tendrils of blood slipping down his back. Ian turns him around and makes a choked noise, reaching into his bag for a bottle of water.

“Shit, why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you might have stopped.”

“I hurt you.”

“Whoa. Whoa. Gallagher.” Mickey turns to face Ian and grabs his face with both hands, forcing Ian to meet his eyes. “Between my ass and my back, I’m going to be feeling you for _days_.” Mickey swallows, these words harder than anything else for some reason. “And I’ve missed feeling you.”

Ian inhales shakily. “Let me clean you up.” He digs another towel out of his bag and pours water on it, carefully wiping away any residual bits of the wall that are embedded in Mickey’s skin before pouring the cool water down Mickey’s back to wash the blood away. Mickey makes a noise as it hits some of the more raw areas, but he wasn’t lying to Ian. “Shit. We have to put something on this.”

“Think we should put some clothes on first.”

Ian’s laugh trembles but he nods. “You’re probably right. Okay. Clothes then I take you to see Vee.” Ian points a finger at Mickey. “No arguing.”

He nods and grabs his clothes, working his sweats back on easily. He clenches his ass with his movements, not wanting to lose the feel of Ian, the fullness from his orgasm. It pulls his back muscles to put on his tank top, but he manages, glad it’s one of his oldest and most worn ones, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to be just as trashed as the towel.

Ian grabs his bag and leads the way down the stairs. The buildings always smell like piss, especially in the summer heat, but Mickey doesn’t notice it as they hurry out into the grassy space between them. Mickey tries to keep up with Ian’s longer stride, made worse by the fact that it’s apparently fueled by worry for Mickey. He keeps his own pace and it takes a block before Ian realizes he’s not right there. 

Ian looks panicked when he turns around, and Mickey salutes him. “Some of us aren’t giants, you know.”

“Whatever. Maybe I should give you a piggy back ride so we can actually make decent time.”

“Not the kind of ride I’m into,” Mickey tosses off and Ian groans. “Oh, like you didn’t see that one coming a mile away.”

“I just expected better of you.”

“Why? The cheap shot’s about the only one I can afford.” He bumps Ian’s arm with his elbow. “So when am I going to talk to this guy?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow and let you know.”

Mickey nods and keeps walking, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “And if he says we shouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. Thinking about that makes me panic, and I’m already a little freaked out by the fact that your back looks like you went through the meat grinder, so I’m not going to think about it.” He shrugs and doesn’t look at Mickey except to glance at him out of the corner of his eye as if to gauge his reaction. “One of the hardest things to learn. What you can actually handle versus what you think you should be able to handle. Most of the time I don’t do too well, but just thinking about thinking about it makes me want to hide somewhere dark and scream, so.”

“We could talk about baseball.”

“We could sneak into Wrigley. Watch a game. This weekend, maybe?”

“Bakery’s closed on Sundays.” Mickey shrugs. “I could probably swing that.”

“Yeah?” 

Ian’s smile makes everything worth it, and Mickey realizes if he ever thought he was over Ian, he was lying to himself. “Yeah. Now, let’s get to Vee’s, because this shirt is starting to stick, and peeling it off ain’t going to feel good at all.”

They stop at the Gallagher house first, and being there feels strange. It’s been a long time since Mickey’s set foot inside. It’s still the same, though it smells less like Frank and more like cooked pasta. Mickey gets that. Pasta’s cheap, easy, and filling.

“Come on.” Ian jogs up the stairs. Mickey follows at a slower pace, pain starting to slide tendrils through the adrenaline high of fucking Ian. “Get you a shirt to change into and then we’ll go to Vee’s. She’ll take care of you.”

“Can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, okay tough guy. How are you going to take care of your back?” Ian gets an annoying smart-ass look on his face, like Mickey’s missed something Ian knows.

“Fuck off.” Mickey lifts his arm to flip Ian off, wincing as something pulls in his shoulder.

“Come on.” Ian picks up a t-shirt from the haphazardly folded pile on his bed. He grabs Mickey’s hand, but slides his fingers to loop around his wrist, tugging Mickey in his wake.

“I’m a grown-ass adult, Gallagher. We don’t need to be on the fucking buddy system.”

Ian’s smirk breaks into an actual smile. “Right. Just the fuck-buddy system.”

“Been a long time since we were just fuck buddies.”

Ian stops and take a deep breath, looking back at Mickey. “We could do that. If he says we shouldn’t be together.”

“You want to be fuck buddies.” The disbelief in Mickey’s voice is only matched by the arch of his eyebrow. “Really.”

Ian averts his eyes for a moment then looks back at Mickey, a smile barely touching his lips. “No. I wouldn’t know how. Not with you.” He looks away again and starts next door. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

**

Mickey is five seconds from bolting. Fucking institutional buildings with their antiseptic smells, trying to hide the odor of desperation and poverty they all reek of. 

Ian had sent Mickey a test the afternoon before telling him he wouldn’t be able to make their work-out session, which would have only been Mickey watching Ian since his back was currently screaming at him for being a fucking idiot and getting fucked against an unfinished concrete wall.

Mickey had replied managing to only say okay rather than inviting Ian over so he could ride him.

He got another text an hour later with Doug’s name, phone number, and address along with a note from Ian - _4pm tmrrw?_

Mickey had closed his eyes, sighed and sent back a yes. 

Which is why he’s here. Waiting. Crawling out of his fucking skin.

“Mr. Milkovich?” Mickey doesn’t even register the name until someone clears their throat. “Uh. Mickey?”

“Oh. Shit. Uh.” He stands up. “Here?”

“Hi. I’m Doug.”

Fuck. Doug is like a wet dream. Totally not Mickey’s type. Too clean-cut. Too not-south side. He also doesn’t look anything like the old dudes that preyed on Ian, and he doesn’t look like Mickey. Of course, Mickey knows fuck all about why Ian likes him. He figures it might be his looks, because he’s pretty fucking sure it’s not his personality.

“Yeah. Mickey. Still.”

“Come on in.” Mickey follows Doug into his office. It’s casual with a few chairs and a desk and a table, but Mickey still feels as awkward as fuck. “Sit wherever you’d be comfortable.”

Mickey goes to the table, sitting on one of the metal folding chairs, letting the table act as a barrier between them.

“So, as you can probably imagine, as a state-funded agency we don’t have a lot of resources. One of the things I like to do is talk to the people my patients feel are important in their lives. Get their perspective. Of course, I can’t tell you anything about Ian’s condition.”

“I know about Ian’s condition. Why the fuck do you think I’m here?”

“I meant any specifics.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Mickey shifts in his seat and rubs his mouth. “So what do I do?”

“He said you two were together during both his manic and depressive phases?”

“No. I mean, we were together for the manic. I was just there with him, helping out when he was depressed and shit. But we...I broke up with him. During the manic part.”

“But you went to help him after?”

“Yeah.” Mickey shrugs like he doesn’t understand the question. “He really likes my kid, you know? So we stayed at Ian’s and he helped keep Ian...connected, I guess. And so I could help. We could. I mean, I left because he was lying to me and cheating on me, and he knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t going to get help. I realized I needed...out of that.”

“Smart.”

“Not sure about that. If I’d stayed, maybe...”

“No.” Doug shakes his head. “What you did or didn’t do has no bearing on what happened. Ian is bipolar. Mania _and_ depression. The two go hand in hand.” He watches Mickey for a moment. “Tell me what other symptoms you saw? In both phases.”

Mickey sighs and rubs his hands over his thighs, wishing he had something to do with them. He also wishes he knew what to say, what the right answers are. Doug waits and Mickey clears his throat. He starts with the men Ian was seeing, the two other jobs. It’s depressing as fuck listing off all the things Ian did, things he did to Mickey. By the time he’s done, Mickey has a hard knot in his stomach. The depressive phase hurts less, or hurts in a different way. The depression is all about Ian. The mania was about both of them.

When he stops talking Mickey feels...not better, but something. “You got any water or anything? Beer?”

“Water.” Doug leaves the room and comes back with a cup of water. Mickey drinks it down then crushes the cup in his fist. 

“So I know you gotta do what’s best for Ian. I want that. I mean, I want him to be okay. So, if you need me to stay away, I will. But...I lo...” Mickey bites his lower lip and he can feel the flush staining his skin. “Anyway. If it matters.”

“One of the most important things for Ian is to have a good support system. So it definitely matters. I do need to talk things over with Ian however.”

“Right. Yeah. So...” Mickey looks around. “I’m free to go?”

“You were free to go any time, Mickey. But thank you for coming.”

“I’d pretty much do anything for him.”

Doug nods and Mickey gets up. He’s still got the cup clutched in his hand to keep himself from shaking. Somehow, losing Ian seems real now, not some distant possibility, not something that can change. When he’d walked away from Ian before, he never really thought of it as _over_. That he’d never see Ian again. Now it feels like loving Ian might honestly mean letting him go.

He tosses his cup when he gets outside, exchanging it for a cigarette. He inhales deeply and holds the smoke in his lungs, feeling them burn.

“Hey.” 

He glances over and sees Ian leaning against a bike rack, hands on the metal bar. Mickey blows smoke out his nostrils and takes another drag. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know. So let’s go somewhere else.”

“Where’d you have in mind?”

“Just come on.” 

Mickey falls in step with him when Ian stands, handing the cigarette over. They walk side by side, passing it back and forth. They walk for a while before Ian skirts down an embankment, leaving Ian to the dry dirt beneath the culvert.

“Shit, Gallagher. If I’d known you were taking me somewhere fancy, I would have worn a suit or some shit.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ian pulls a baggie out of the pocket of his hoodie and frees a joint from it. “You going to keep bitching or you gonna light up?”

Mickey takes the joint from Ian and lights it, sucking the smoke in. Ian watches him with dark shadowed eyes. Mickey blows the smoke out as he talks. “What?”

Ian shakes his head and takes the blunt, inhaling deeply. “How’s your back?”

“Good. Long as I don’t move. Or breathe.”

Ian laughs. “Shit.”

“Worth it.” Mickey takes the joint back. “You scared?”

Ian nods and sighs. “Never loved anyone other than you. Thought I loved Kash, but I didn’t. Just you. Not sure I’d know how to love someone else.”

“Doesn’t go away just because someone might tell us to stop.”

“But we’ll stop.” It’s not a question.

“Until you get better.”

Ian steals the joint back and takes a short hit, not breathing until he has to, coughing on his exhale. “I’m not going to get better, Mick. This isn’t something that goes away. It doesn’t go into remission. That’s why I didn’t want the meds. They’re forever.”

“But you are taking them.”

“Yeah.” Ian nods and then shrugs. “For now.”

Mickey sighs and rubs his eyes until he sees stars. “I don’t know if I can do ‘for now’, Ian.”

“That’s all I can promise.” Ian looks down at his hands, carefully not glancing at Mickey. Mickey reaches over and takes the joint from Ian’s fingers. He takes a deep inhale, reaching to lift Ian’s chin. Ian looks at him, lips parting as Mickey leans in and shotguns the smoke, mouth fitted to Ians. They share it, and Ian slides his tongue against Mickey’s.

Mickey pushes Ian onto his back, breaking the kiss to exhale before kissing Ian again, kissing him back. He feels like a thief, stealing final moments with Ian. He hisses when Ian’s hand slide up his back, and Ian hisses in response. 

“Shit. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool.” Mickey sits up, straddling Ian. He rests his hands on Ian’s stomach, rubbing his thumbs against Ian’s t-shirt. He stares down at him, tilting his head and smiling a little. “Love you. No matter what. I need you to know that, okay?”

“I do.” Ian settles his hands on Mickey’s hips, sliding his thumbs beneath his shirt and rubbing small slow circles on his skin. “And you know, right? I love you. So much. This is for you. So much of this is for you.”

“You need it to be for you, Ian.” Mickey pushes Ian’s t-shirt up and traces the muscles of his abdomen. “Won’t be worth it, worth doing if it’s not.”

“For us.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Can’t promise that there’ll be an us in the end. Do it for you.”

Ian’s face tightens, and Mickey knows he wants to argue, but he can also see that Ian knows he can’t. Not really. “A little bit for you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey shakes his head then plants his hands on Ian’s chest and leans in to kiss him, slow, warm and lingering. “We could go somewhere. Just in case.”

“Don’t.”

Mickey smiles at him and raises an eyebrow. This is familiar. “Don’t what?”

“Act like it’s really over. Not...not until we know it is.” Ian reaches up and strokes Mickey’s cheek with his thumb, warm from where it had been rubbing Mickey’s side. “Just got you back.”

“Never lost me. Not really.” Mickey kisses him again. “Now, I actually have an apartment we could go to. Can we get the fuck out of the dirt?”

“I was trying to be romantic.”

“By bringing me to what amounts to a ditch.”

“What? That’s not romance?”

“Not since I discovered beds. Come on.” Mickey gets to his feet and holds a hand out for Ian. Ian grabs it, levering himself to his feet, careful not to put too much weight on Mickey and pull his back muscles.

“Fine. Whatever. If you’re going to be conventional.”

“I just want to be fucking comfortable. Besides, I don’t think you’re going to want to be on the ground giving how hard I’m going to ride you.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Ian grins at him, something sharp and hungry in it. “Bed it is.”

They walk most of the way, though at one point Ian slaps Mickey’s ass and Mickey chases him, catching him around the waist and pulling him into an alley to kiss him. Ian growls low in his throat and tries to deepen the kiss, but Mickey pulls away and takes off. Ian yells and races after him, almost catching Mickey just before he darts up the back stairs of the Alibi.

Ian crowds him against the door, and Mickey can feel Ian’s dick hardening against his ass. “Open the door.”

“Quit distracting me.”

“Can’t multitask?”

Mickey flips Ian off over his shoulder as the lock clicks. He shoves the door open and goes inside. Ian kicks it shut behind them, grabbing Mickey and kissing him, backing him toward the bed.

“Naked. Now.”

“Yeah.” Mickey tugs his shirt off. He kicks his shoes off and nearly trips over them when he does. The back of his knees hit the mattress and he sits down, not hesitating to lift his hips and shove his jeans off. He kicks his clothes to the side as Ian strips.

Ian naked is fucking glorious and Mickey’s touching him as soon as Ian moves close enough. He tugs him down onto the bed, and Ian sits next to him. He curves his hand around Mickey’s jaw and leans in to kiss him. Mickey presses forward and pushes Ian onto the bed.

He climbs onto Ian, straddling him, lining them up so their cocks slide together. Ian grabs Mickey’s hips, looking up at him. “You have lube?”

Mickey nods and places one hand beside Ian’s head and leans over him, digging in the nightstand drawer. Ian arches up so their dicks are pressed hard together. Mickey huffs a breath and looks down at Ian. “You don’t think I’m gonna fuck you on the edge of the bed and risk you dumping my ass on the floor, do you? Scoot up, dickhead.”

“Then get off me.” Ian smiles. Mickey doesn’t move though he does raise up so Ian can slide up the bed. Once he’s settled and propped against the pillows, Mickey crawls up the bed, licking Ian’s cock from base to tip. “Fuck. Your fucking mouth.”

“You want my mouth?” Mickey rises onto his knees, opening the lube and pouring some on his fingers, a few drops falling onto Ian’s stomach. He reaches back and rubs his hole, eyes falling almost closed. “Or my ass?”

Ian groans roughly. “Gonna open yourself up for me?” His voice is raspy, thick with desire. “Get your ass all slicked up for my cock?”

Mickey braces one hand on Ian’s chest to steady himself as he pushes a finger in and clenches around it. He watches Ian through lowered lashes. Ian licks his lips, leaving them pink and wet. Mickey’s lips part in response and he breathes roughly as he works a second finger in. His erection dips slightly for just a moment at the breach, but Ian’s fingers are grazing along his shaft which takes care of that. Mickey scissors his fingers, fucking himself on them as he spreads himself open.

Ian trails his fingers down to the base of Mickey’s cock then brushes his balls. Mickey’s breath hitches, his hips jerking. Ian’s smile is wicked as he slides his hand further back until it reaches Mickey’s and he pushes two fingers in, tangling with Mickey’s.

“Holy fuck,” Mickey gasps. “Oh, Jesus, Ian.”

Ian curves his fingers slightly and presses up. Mickey’s back arches and he thrusts down onto their fingers. Ian rubs and thrusts and Mickey can’t breathe against the pressure. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Get in me. God. Please.”

Ian thrusts his fingers again and Mickey flexes the hand on Ian’s chest, pressing hard against his skin. Ian eases his fingers free, still slick with lube as he wraps them around his dick. “C’mon, Mick.”

Mickey moves up and positions himself over Ian’s cock, letting Ian guide it to the slick ring of muscle. Mickey puts his weight on his hand and balances against the tip of Ian’s dick before exhales shakily and sinks down slowly. Ian fills him and Mickey’s knees tighten against him. He presses down, trying to open himself more, take Ian deeper. Ian just stares up at him, not moving. 

Mickey can feel the tension in Ian’s body as he holds himself still, waiting for Mickey. This isn’t the last time, Mickey tells himself. Ian’s doing better. They’re good for each other. Doug will see it. Everyone will see it.

“You waiting for a green light or something, Mick? Because whore houses are better known for red ones.”

“Shut up, dickhead.”

Ian thrusts his hips up, hands on Mickey’s hips to keep him balanced. “ _That’s_ my dick.”

“Huh. Barely felt it.”

“I’m about to not give a shit about your back, flip you over, and fuck you senseless.”

“Yeah?” Mickey grins and flexes the muscles of his ass, constricting around Ian’s dick. “Or I could do this.”

“So get fucking on with it.” Ian thrusts up again.

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees with a nod, lifting up until Ian’s barely inside him before sinking back down. He keeps moving, long and slow strokes, up until Ian almost slips out and then down, bottoming out when Ian’s cock feels like it’s part of Mickey. He skates his fingers up Ian’s sides then braces himself so he can lean down and suck one of Ian’s nipples into his mouth. His angle changes and both he and Ian groan.

Ian’s back arches and his hand slides up Mickey’s spine, fingers careful on the still torn skin. Mickey licks Ian’s other nipple then straightens up, relishing the look on Ian’s face as Mickey settles on him again.

Mickey sets his hands on Ian’s chest, thumbs swiping over the nipples as he starts moving again, long thrusts replaced by short, hard, faster ones. He rides Ian desperately, trying to push thoughts out of his head with every slap of skin. Sweat makes the deep scratches on his back sting, and there’s a fine film on Ian’s body as he pushes up into Mickey just as hard. It’s like a small explosion every time as they find their rhythm, hit their stride. It’s like Ian has a homing beacon, hitting Mickey’s sweet spot like a fucking home run champion.

The only sound in the room is their heavy breathing, of skin on skin. Mickey can’t moan because he can’t draw enough breath. He’s lightheaded from the sex and from Ian’s unrelenting stare. Mickey’s strokes shorten and he’s barely moving off Ian, using the muscles in his thighs to propel his rough, fast bounce.

Ian’s hand slide down to Mickey’s ass and squeeze tight. Mickey rakes his nails over Ian’s nipples and then Ian arches up, his cock pulsing once and then jerking hard as he comes. Mickey reaches for his cock, but Ian’ stops him. “Up. Knees.”

Mickey follows Ian’s hoarse instructions. Ian pulls off the condom and drops it somewhere, moving from beneath Mickey to get on his hands and knees, looking up at Mickey with that same steady gaze as he takes Mickey’s dick into his mouth.

“Holy...” Mickey fists his hands in Ian’s hair tight, his hips rocking forward. Ian only takes him deep twice before Mickey comes, reveling in the feel of Ian’s mouth sucking him until Mickey’s dick softens.

Mickey slumps down onto his heels and pulls Ian into a rough kiss, tasting himself on Ian’s tongue. He pulls back eventually, his chest tight. He wants to blame it on struggling to breathe, but he knows he can’t help Ian if he’s lying to himself. He rests his forehead against Ian’s, breathing him in. “Love you.”

“Mm,” Ian murmurs. “You too.”

“Now find the goddamned condom because I’m not sleeping in the fucking wet spot.”

Ian laughs as he straightens up and Mickey collapses on the bed opposite where Ian had discarded the condom. “Careful, Mick. You keep up the sweet talk and you’re going to steal the prize for romance.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.” Mickey’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. “You’re ruining my damn afterglow.”

**

“So, you gonna start seeing a shrink of your own?”

Mickey looks up from the plate of macaroni and cheese at Mandy. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Terry and his brothers are out on a job, so Mickey’s at the house. Yevgeny had gone down for a nap about twenty minutes ago, and Mickey’s actually thinking about crashing too. Fucking kids are _exhausting_.

“Ian told me you went and saw Doug.”

“Ian talks too much.”

Mandy looks at him pointedly. “Better than not enough.”

Mickey flips her off. “I talk plenty. Just because I don’t run off at the mouth like _some_ people doesn’t mean I don’t say shit that needs to be said.”

Mandy doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and Mickey goes back to his food. He’s got a bite halfway to his mouth when she huffs. “Well?”

Mickey lets the fork fall back to the plate. “Well what?”

“Ian’s shrink?”

“What about him? Ask Ian. I barely know the guy.”

Mandy lifts herself off the chair just enough to reach over and smack Mickey upside the head. “What did you say to him, dickwad?”

Mickey shrugs. “The truth?” He gets a few more bites of his food, but Mandy’s apparently not done with him yet. 

“ _And_?”

“And what?” Mickey stuffs a bite in his mouth and makes a show of chewing. Mandy’s mouth and eyes narrow and Mickey considers how far he can push her.

Mandy kicks him hard in the shin. “And what did he say, fuckhead?”

“He said Ian and I are fucking destiny. We’re gonna get gay married, get a white picket fucking fence and have six kids, just like Frank and Monica.” Mickey rolls his eyes. “He didn’t tell me shit, Mandy.”

Mandy huffs in annoyance. “You suck.”

“What? You want me to beat it out of him? Pretty sure he’d tell Ian to stay the fuck away from me by having me fucking arrested if I did that.”

“I just want to know if I need to hide the liquor bottles.” She gives him a pointed look. “You didn’t do so great the last time he left.”

“He fucking joined the _Army_ to get fucking shot. He ran off and disa-fucking-ppeared.”

“Yeah, but now if you can’t see each other, you still know how you guys feel about each other. And you’ll just be a couple of blocks away.”

“You’re just a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?”

“Excuse the fuck out of me for being worried about you!”

Mickey exhales and pushes his plate away. “Rather you worry about Ian.”

“Ian’s got his family to worry about him.”

“Yeah, well, they do fuck all except compare him to his mom.”

“They’re not that bad. Well, they’re better.” Mandy kicks him under the table. “You think you don’t have anyone else, but he’s not the only one who gives a shit about you.”

“Yeah, well. I give a shit about him.” Mickey shrugs. “And you too, I guess.”

Mandy smiles just a little. “Are you going to leave him alone?”

“No choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Mickey shoves away from the table and stands up, pacing the distance to the couch and back. “Shit, Mandy. What do you want from me? This is fucking hard, okay? Hard in every way. I want what’s best for him. I want him. If they don’t work together...I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jesus.” Mickey kicks his chair and grabs the pack of cigarettes off the table and lights one. “Jesus. Quit the sob story and shit. We’ll get by. Just like always.”

“You didn’t have to deal with you.”

He flips her off. “What about you?”

“What about me?” She looks away and chews on her lower lip. Mickey smiles, amused by the familiar gesture.

“You’re not still hung up on Lip, are you? Because he’s a fucking asshole. And no matter what he says or thinks, he’s not fucking good enough for you.”

“Bullshit. He’s going to be somebody. I’m not going to be anything.”

“Fuck that. You’re going to be you. And you’re fucking awesome. Just stop fucking thinking you need a guy to be something.”

Mandy raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy pining over a guy.”

“I’m not fucking _pining_.”

“Mooning. Sighing.” She raises her voice higher, sickly sweet, pretending to swoon. “Oh, Ian.” She draws out Ian’s name on a sigh. “He’s _so_ dreamy.”

“You’re gonna die. I don’t care if you’re my fucking sister.”

“Oh, Ian. Will you be my boooooyfriend?”

Mickey starts around the table. Mandy jumps up and runs off laughing. Mickey chases her around the house until she runs outside to get away from him. He can hear her laughter down the street as he smiles to himself and locks the door. He grabs Yevgeny out of his crib and stretches out on the couch, kid lying against his chest. 

He was the one who taught Mandy how to pick a lock. She’ll get back in eventually.

**

Mickey doesn’t see Ian for over a week, though he does get a text once a day, which is the only thing that keeps him from climbing the walls. Mostly keeps him from climbing the walls. Ian tells him he’s having a downswing. It’s not like before, just right now things are a little harder. Mickey reads the words, pretending they don’t send ice shooting through his veins, and texts back, offering to come and see him, to work out, to kicks his ass at video games, to just hang.

Ian turns him down, but gently. He doesn’t lash out and he texts Mickey every day. Mickey spends the week sending him stupid jokes and 4am thoughts and pictures he takes of Yevgeny. As long as Ian responds by the end of the day, Mickey doesn’t panic. Doesn’t worry.

Too much.

A week and two days later – not that Mickey’s counting – he gets a picture of Ian’s middle finger flipping him off. Mickey laughs and sends a text back.

_not going to get in my ass from there_

He hears a phone ding and looks up, smiling when he sees Ian in the doorway from the Alibi. Ian reads the message, eyebrow lifting. “How about from here?”

“You’re almost close enough.”

Ian walks over and stretches out on the bed next to Mickey, arms folded behind his head as he stairs at the ceiling. Mickey raises himself up on one elbow, looking down at Ian. Ian slants his eyes toward Mickey, a small smile on his lips. “You wanna cuddle?”

“Fuck no.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s arm and tugs him close, putting his arm around him as Mickey settles against Ian’s chest. After a moment, Ian raises his hand, stroking the back of Mickey’s hair. 

“Sap,” Mickey’s voice rumbles.

“Bottom.” 

“Mm. You complainin’?”

“Not even close.” There’s a laugh in Ian’s voice and he kisses the top of Mickey’s head.

Mickey closes his eyes and just breathes, drunk on the warm smell of Ian. “Like this.” Mickey tries to say it grudgingly, but he just sounds earnest. He’s as big a sap as Ian. Maybe worse.

It’s quiet for a while, and Mickey closes his eyes, letting the warm touch of Ian’s hand lull him. Ian inhales and Mickey burrows closer. “I saw Doug today.”

Mickey tenses. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Talking about last week. Triggers. All that.”

Mickey frowns and runs a finger along the strip of skin exposed between Ian’s t-shirt and jeans. “You know what triggered it?”

“Stress. Not eating right. Stopped sleeping. Stopped working out. Stopped my routines. All the things I’m not supposed to do.”

“Aren’t your family members supposed to help you with that shit?”

“Yeah. They do. But I have to do it too, you know? I can’t just rely on other people.”

“Yeah, but they’re supposed to pick you up when you can’t do it yourself. Push you when you need it.” Mickey frowns against Ian’s chest. “They should know that.”

Ian rubs the back of Mickey’s head. Mickey can’t help closing his eyes again, luxuriating in Ian’s gentle touch. “We talked about you.”

“Oh?” Mickey’s pretty sure that, whatever Doug said, it’s not particularly good. Pretty sure Ian would have led with that if it were. “Told you what everyone else has been telling you all along, huh? Stay the fuck away from the Milkovich kid?”

“He didn’t put it like that, no.”

“But the end result is the same.” Mickey’s eyes burn and he keeps them close tight. “Shit. I am so fucking stupid.”

“What?” Ian shifts so they’re face to face, reaching to tilt Mickey’s head up so they’re looking at each other. “You’re not stupid.”

“Bullshit. Didn’t make it through my freshman year. I can’t keep a business going or a scam running.” Mickey looks away from Ian. “Thought I could have someone like you. People like me don’t get...”

“You’ve said this shit before, Mickey, and it _is_ bullshit. You’ve got a real job. You’ve been amazing with me. Hell, amazing with everyone. You’ve become a good dad. Yev’s never going to know what Terry’s like. You’re never going to let him get to him.”

“And I’m gonna give him what exactly? What’s so much better about me?”

“Everything. Everything about you is better than Terry, and you give that to Yev. You give him better than we had. That’s what you aim for. Better, smarter.” Ian closes the space between them and nuzzles Mickey’s jaw. “Look at me. I’ve got the same thing as Monica, but I’m doing better than she ever did.”

“We’re not talking about the same things and you know it.” Mickey sits up, turning his back to Ian. “I was stupid enough to hope that someone might look at me, talk to me and think that maybe, _maybe_ I could good for you.”

“You are.”

“Name one fucking person who thinks that, Ian.”

The bed shifts as Ian sits up and settles his hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “I do.”

“Yeah, well.” Mickey tries to laugh, but it comes out strangled. “You’re crazy.”

“True. But that doesn’t make me wrong.” Ian’s thumb rubs Mickey’s skin through his t-shirt, and Mickey barely suppresses the shiver the heat sends through him. “Doug told me that he thought we’re too emotionally invested in each other. It would be hard to see things as they really are, hard not to be hopeful.”

“Did you tell him hope got shot, killed, and buried around here a long time ago?”

“No. But I told him that I appreciated his opinion, and I know he wants the best for me. I also told him that that’s you.”

“So you’re trying to get yourself committed again, huh?”

“Jesus,” Ian snaps. “Stop being so fucking defensive and _listen_ to me. I love you. I loved you before this shit showed up and fucked my life up. I fucking thought you were hot and dangerous when I woke you up with a tire iron pushing my fucking luck. I’ve been in love with you for a long fucking time and this-” Ian taps the side of his head. “This doesn’t change that.”

Mickey opens his mouth. He doesn’t have anything to say, can’t actually think or talk in the rush of Ian’s words. Ian’s talking fast, loud, and vehement, but it’s more like that now that he’s decided to say this, he’s not going to be stopped. It’s not like before when the words were the mania manifested, falling out of his mouth like they _couldn’t_ stop.

“No.” Ian pulls on Mickey’s shoulder and jerks him down onto the bed. He moves over him and straddles him before Mickey can even blink. “Shut up and listen to me.”

Mickey nods and Ian exhales, but he doesn’t seem to deflate.

“You’re the person who I can and will hurt the most, because you have my fucking heart in your hands and when it’s hard, when it goes bad – in either direction – you’re who I’m going to lash out at. I hate these fucking pills that I have to take for the rest of my fucking _life_ and I hate that my brain’s going to keep changing and the pills will change and I’ll have to adjust every time even though they make me feel fucking dead inside when they bump up the dose and quitting seems so much easier. I’m going to lash out because you’re not going to let me quit, because I’ve got your heart too.”

Ian’s pinning Mickey’s wrists, bent over him. His eyes are bright but clear, and Mickey’s pretty sure he’s already drowned in them, because he can’t breathe.

“I love you, you stupid fucking idiot, and I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. I’m _not_ walking away from this. From us. From you.”

Ian’s chest is heaving, his breath short as if they’d been fucking or fighting. Mickey manages an exhale. “You told Doug all that?”

Ian barks a laugh. “Not in so many words. I told him I didn’t care what he said. My life. My decision.” Ian doesn’t release Mickey’s wrists doesn’t move away. “My brain being fucked up doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want. What I need.”

“And he just let you walk out.”

“No.” Ian smiles, an honest and uninhibited grin that had been the first sign of Mickey’s downfall. “He told me that one of the scariest things when you don’t trust your brain can be making decisions. Trusting yourself. He said he was proud of me.”

Mickey swallows hard. “You know he’s not the only one, right?”

“Yeah.” Ian blows out a rough breath. “Okay. I just dumped a lot of shit on you. So I’m going to go and give you some time to think. Because I’m not better, Mick. I’m better for _now_. That’s the most I’m ever going to be. And that’s the most I’m ever going to be able to promise you.” He kisses Mickey fiercely, and Mickey can taste every word Ian had said. Can taste all the questions Ian hasn’t asked. Ian breaks the kiss and pulls back, and this time his smile is more of a ghost. “You know where I’ll be.”

**

Mickey doesn’t move even after the door shuts behind Ian. He doesn’t even move his arms from where Ian pinned them to the bed. He closes his eyes, licking his lips like what Ian had said in the kiss still lingers there.

He’s not sure how long he lays there. Not sure if time’s passed at all. But suddenly he’s in motion, flying down the stairs and through the Alibi. He doesn’t know where Ian is – he could be a million places that Mickey knows Ian thinks of as theirs. But there’s only one place that Mickey knows he started falling in love with Ian. Or at least the first time he let himself believe what he’d been feeling had a chance of really happening. Of being _real_.

Ian’s sitting in the dugout, sprawled on the bench with his legs spread, eyes closed. He looks calm, but Mickey can see that Ian’s hands are trembling.

“You know it doesn’t make a single bit of fucking sense that I didn’t kick your ass or kill your or even fucking _threaten_ you after it happened the first time. You could have said something. Signed my death warrant.”

Ian’s eyes stay closed. He doesn’t smile. “Guess you’re lucky you’re a good fuck.”

Mickey laughs and sits next to Ian. He doesn’t reach out to him, but he does press their legs together knee to knee and thigh to thigh. “All you’re promising is for now.”

Ian nods and Mickey can see him swallow. Ian’s eyes stay closed.

“I...I’d...” Mickey takes Ian’s hand and threads their fingers together. Ian finally opens his eyes and Mickey’s sure. Never been more sure of anything in his life. “I’d rather have for now with you than anything with anyone else.”

Ian’s breath shudders out of him and Mickey’s surprised. Like Ian wasn’t sure of what Mickey would say. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. For now...well.” Mickey shrugs and rests his head on Ian’s shoulder. “It sounds close enough to forever for me.”

Ian sniffs and Mickey rolls his eyes, but Ian’s speaks before Mickey has a chance, voice thick with tears. “Christ, you are such a fucking chick.”

“Hey, being your bitch don’t make me a girl, asshole.”

Ian laughs and wraps his arm around Mickey and pulls him close. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

Mickey shakes his head slightly. “The only place I ever thought I’d end up is prison.”

“Here’s better than prison. Here’s nice.” Ian rests his head on Mickey’s. “Here’s pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mickey whispers it like a vow when he turns his head and kisses Ian softly. “Here’s pretty good.”

**Author's Note:**

> * the story that Mickey tells of the woman in Vegas is true.  
> * All of the symptoms that Ian shows throughout this story are documented symptoms of bipolar disorder. Not everyone displays all of them, and not everyone has them to such a severe degree. Many of the things that Ian does read as abuse, and they are. But they are also very real things that can occur in a relationship with someone with untreated bipolar disorder.


End file.
